


For a Pound of Flesh

by SummerLeighWind



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Pre-Epilogue, Romance, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6036106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerLeighWind/pseuds/SummerLeighWind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was on the tip of Pansy's tongue to tell Weasley to beat it, that she was not so far fallen that she'd shag the likes of him, but then, she began to think seriously about what sleeping with Weasley would mean. He would come to his senses when he sobered up and realize what he'd done. He'd be ashamed, horrified, and scared. He'd want their affair to be kept quiet and pretend it never happened. Pansy was willing to bet he would do just about anything for her to buy her silence. A list of endless demands scrolling in front of her mind's eye, Pansy shivered in anticipation for what was to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fall

Strolling up and down the gray, fluorescent lit halls of the hospital Hermione's mother was staying in after her knee surgery, Ron hummed to himself and thought of little. Missus Granger was being checked over by a Muggle healer and he, Hermione, and their kids had been shooed out for the examination. For a bit, they'd just sat in the chairs in the little waiting area down the hall from Missus Granger's room. But, then, Rose had asked for the loo and Hermione made the decision that Hugo would go with them to it. Ron had opted out of the trip in favor of a little walkabout to get the blood moving through his legs again.

He understood why Hermione wanted to spend all of the day here, hospitals were cold and uncomfortable enough _with_ company. Having none at all just made a visit just unbearable. Ron would want to do the same if it were his mum at St. Mungo's, he knew, but that didn't mean he had to be happy with sitting down and making chitchat the _whole_ time. A short romp around the floor seemed like a more than acceptable allotment for agreeing to accompany Hermione to see her mother.

Letting his gaze meander over the healer assistants and healers themselves as they darted to and fro from rooms, Ron had to stop suddenly when he caught sight of a familiar, if larger, hard-faced woman. Quickening his step, Ron cut in front of the familiar woman's path and asked, "Excuse me, but, Pansy?"

Her expression wasn't too different from that of a cornered rabbit.

Ron felt an elated smirk pull his lips upward. "Pansy? Pansy Parkinson?"

An angry furrow coming between her brows at his gloating tone, she hissed, "Sorry, no."

When she tried to pass him, Ron blocked her. He was far too excited by this curious development to just let her go on her merry way. "What are _you_ doing here?" he questioned, trying to understand what Pansy _Parkinson,_ of all people, was doing in muggle hospital. What was she even doing in England? The gossip mill of their world had said she'd moved to Australia _years_ ago, after Draco Malfoy dumped her. Looking her up and down, Ron gasped. "Wait, you're dressed like a–"

"Stop!" she begged, a red, mortified flush crawling up her face. Looking down, she whispered, "I'm not–not… I'm not Pansy Parkinson, okay?"

Ron rolled his eyes. He was thick, not _daft_. Surely she knew she couldn't convince him of something that was true, especially when the evidence was right in front of him. "Yes, you are," he argued.

Irritation danced across her features at his insistence. Briefly, she dropped her gaze to the the dull laminate beneath their feet. Then, she lifted her head again, face determined. "Can you please step aside?" she asked. "I have to check in on a patient in the next room."

He refused. Sneering, he said, "Come on, Parkinson, I know it's you. Don't try and deny it! You don't look _that_ different from when we were kids."

Lips parting into an ugly snarl, she hunched her shoulders in a way that reminded Ron of Crookshanks before he pounced. "Fine! I am Pansy Parkinson!" she conceded. Then, hands going to her wide hips, she growled, "You know what else, Ronald _Weasley_? I _work_ here and I have a job I need to do! So, move aside!"

It was Ron's turn to blush. As much as he wanted to taunt the haughty Pansy for working in a muggle hospital, he didn't want to get in the way of her job, and, in turn, an innocent patient's health. "Uh, yeah, okay…" he mumbled, stepping aside.

Lifting her nose high in the air, Pansy passed him with a proud and perfunctory, "Hmph!"

Watching her walk away, backside swaying with her every step and shoulders squared, Ron scowled. She should be the _last_ one of them to come out of their confrontation with her head held high! Hands balling into fists, Ron could only glare after her. But, suddenly, a wicked retort came to him. Cupping his mouth, he called, "Hey! Hey, Pansy!"

She paused, trying very hard to be casual as she looked over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed into little more than slits, she asked, "What, Weasley?"

Grinning broadly, he said, "How the mighty have fallen, aye?"

Pansy's lips quirked into a frown that wasn't entirely mean. "I'd watch it, if I were you, Weasley. That pedestal you're on is awfully small and precarious," she told him.

Once again beaten by superior acuity, Ron could only stand there and follow her with his eyes as she disappeared into a patient's room. Deciding it was best to head back to Missus's Granger's room a minute or so later, Ron tried to not let Pansy's last words bother him.

(Yet, even as he lay in bed later that night, he couldn't help but wonder if she knew something he didn't).

* * *

Shitty Muggle ballads playing in the background, Pansy did her best to concentrate at the task at hand: picking which brand of crisps to purchase. Debating between store-brand and name-brand, Pansy grabbed each from the shelf and eyed the ingredients of both before setting the name-brand back. The store-brand was nearly identical to the name-brand, but it was twenty percent cheaper. Tapping her foot impatiently, she looked left, wondering if she'd have to go see why her daughter was taking so long to pick valentines for her class's exchange.

However, before she could begin to walk in the direction of the seasonal aisle, a voice from behind said, "Hello."

Pansy tensed as she turned. Catching sight of a now all too familiar tall redhead beside her, she began through clenched teeth, "Oh, for the love of–"

But before Pansy could finish her exclamation, Weasley told her, "Hermione tasked me with running to the corner shop for some snacks for our kids. She said it's too expensive to be buying them at the hospital's gift shop."

She pursed her lips. Why did he think Pansy cared? Why was he even talking to her? When she could find no ready answers, Pansy sighed. "She's not wrong," she muttered, glancing sideways, hoping he'd catch the obvious hint she wanted him to leave her alone.

Where was Freesia?

Ron bobbed his head. Eyes meandering over her until they caught sight of Pansy's basket of items hanging at her side, he asked, "So, uh, are you done working or…?"

Pansy was done with this game. This was _Ron Weasley,_ not an old friend! Crossing her arms to the best of her abilities, she hissed, "Weasley, would you just leave me alone?"

Predictably, his face grew red. He whined, "Hey! I was just trying to be polite!"

Glaring at him, Pansy took a step forward and snarled, "I don't care! Shove off!"

"Mum?" Freesia called.

Whirling around, Pansy felt her mouth grow dry. By Salazar! Why did her little girl have to show up _now?_ With Weasley _right here_! Angrily stalking toward her daughter, she ripped the box of valentines from her hand and threw it in her shopping basket. Then, grabbing her daughter's chin, she forced the girl to meet her smoldering gaze. "Freesia! Why in Merlin's name did you take so long?" she demanded.

Her daughter just stared back at her, eyes wide and petrified. Pansy didn't blame her little girl in the slightest, it wasn't Freesia's fault she was getting yelled at, really. Yes, Pansy hated it when her daughter dawdled, but, normally, Pansy only made a smart remark about Freesia's pokiness. Never before had Pansy been so rough, so furious about it. Then again, never before had Pansy run into one of the magical world's heroes at a Muggle shop either.

"I-I-" Freesia began to stammer.

Saving her from having to come up with an answer, Weasley wheezed, "You have a daughter?"

Looking to the surprised man, Pansy barked, "Weasley, just leave!"

Fingers tugging at the hem of her sleeve, Freesia asked, "Mum, who's he?"

"Never mind you," Pansy said as she took hold of her daughter's wrist. "Let's just get in the queue."

As they passed him by, Pansy knew to tense when she saw the disgruntled frown darken his features. "It was nice to meet you Miss Parkinson!" Weasley called after them, tone mean and sardonic.

Heart hammering away in her chest, Pansy was far from in control when she spun around, shoulders hunched in preparation for a fight, and fingers itching for a wand she'd long since stopped carrying on her. "DON'T TALK TO MY DAUGHTER, YOU FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITOR!" she screamed, drawing all of the store's attention to the three of them.

The box of sweets Weasley had been holding slipped from his stunned fingers and his maw gaped at them, tongue laying leaden and speechless in its confines. Breathing heavily, Pansy slipped her shopping basket from her arm and put it on the ground. Her and her daughter wouldn't ever be coming back to this store, she noted as she hurried them toward the exit.

Glancing behind her all the way home, Pansy only began to breath normally again once they were in the safety of their flat. Leaving her still stunned and mute daughter by the front door, Pansy hurried to the bathroom. Locking the door, she let her shaking knees give way as she slumped down into a heap on the ugly green tiles of the floor. There, she rocked back and forth, back and forth, and back and forth.

* * *

At first, Ron had been furious. Who did Pansy think she was? Yelling at him like! Especially when he was trying to be polite! But when his anger began to die, he started to connect the dots and realized _why_ Pansy acted like she had. First, everyone (or, perhaps, _almost_ everyone) believed she had moved to Australia years ago. Second, she worked as a healer's assistant in a _muggle_ hospital. Pansy _Parkinson,_ of all witches. Third, and, maybe, most importantly, she had a _daughter._ Ron had not only blown what might have been Pansy's cover, he'd found her _working_ in what must be the most degrading place for such a proud pureblood to be and, finally, he discovered her secret: her daughter.

He hadn't been friends with her in school; in fact, Pansy had almost been as much a nemesis to him and his friends as Draco Malfoy once was. Pansy had also been a bigot (possibly still was, too, if the insult she'd shrieked at him was anything to go by) and, even worse, she attempted to sell out Ron's _best friend_ during the Final battle. If anything, she must think he hates her. Which was sort of true. Ron did feel quite a bit of contempt for Pansy still. Despite his distaste for her, however, he couldn't stop the growing respect he felt for her. The way she'd protected her daughter from Ron (even if it wasn't necessary), was both valiant and very Gryffindor-esque. Two things a man like him couldn't help but take notice of and appreciate. Merlin, if it had been Pansy bothering him in a store and trying to talk to _his_ daughter, Ron would have done the exact same thing!

And it was that very reason that had brought him back to the hospital Pansy worked at.

Seeing her approach the healer's assistants' desk, he pushed away from it and greeted softly, "Hi."

Halting, she stared straight at him, knuckles bone-white where they peaked around the clipboard she held in her hands. "What do I need to do to get you to leave me alone?" she demanded. "I can't scream at you here."

Ron chuckled and looked to his feet. "Actually, I wanted to apologize…" he said.

"To _me_?" she asked, sounding very surprised.

"Look, I've had a couple of days to think about everything and I realized I was in the wrong at the shop," he admitted, lifting his face to meet her gaze. "I wouldn't appreciate someone doing what I did to your daughter with either of my kids," he explained.

Relaxing ever so slightly, Pansy nodded. "Okay," she said.

"Okay is all you have to say?" he asked, surprised. The apology was going a lot better than he expected. He had feared she'd turn up her nose at it or mock him.

An ugly sneer overcame her features. "Oh, I'm _sorry_ , do I need to gush about how wonderful you are for apologizing now?" Pansy questioned, sarcasm lacing her words like poison.

"No!" Ron exclaimed, eyebrows shooting toward his hairline. Why was she getting defensive now?

She crossed her arms and asked, "Then what else are you looking for from me?"

Why did he think he wanted _more_ from her? What more could Ron possibly want from the likes of her, anyway? "Just forget it," he snapped, mood soured. Why ever did he think he ought to apologize to the likes of Pansy Parkinson? Of course she'd be so damn Slytherin-like about it all and believe he had ulterior motives! Of course she couldn't just see that Ron was being a proper _adult_ and trying to right his mistake!

"Fine!" she replied, tone clipped and sharp.

Lifting a hand, he gave a sarcastic wave before stuffing it in his pocket. "Bye, Parkinson."

"Goodbye Weasley, may our paths never cross again," she called after his retreating back.

Not even looking back, Ron returned happily, "Agreed!"

* * *

Walking into the examination room that was so small that it might as well be a cubicle, Pansy stopped short at the sight of the mussed up man on the examination table. ' _Oh goody_ ,' she thought. Maybe she should just turn around now and ask Katie, who was in the next exam room with one of the doctors, to switch patients with her. But would Pansy really rather help treat a smelly homeless woman versus him? No, she would not. The homeless made her want to throw up.

Sighing, Pansy approached wearily and called, "Weasley?"

His head turned, eyes sparking with recognition at the sight of her. Grinning broadly, he exclaimed "Oh, hey! Hey Parkinson! What're you doin' here?"

Pansy frowned. "I work here, remember?"

His eyebrows furrowed comically as he tapped at his chin. "Uh… N–wait! Yeah! How about that?" he replied with a laugh.

Finally close enough to Weasley to catch a whiff of him, she sighed. _Of course_. "Are you pissed?" she demanded as she started to look him over for any obvious reason for him to be here.

"Noooo," he drawled.

Pansy let her hands fall to her side as she asked, "They put you in here to dry out, didn't they?"

Shaking his head wildly, Weasley all but shoved his freshly bandaged hand into her face. "My hand's hurt!" he told her. Then, pointing at it with his other, he said, "See? Bandaged an' bloody."

Reaching for a pair of gloves, Pansy pulled them on before she gingerly gripped Weasley's injured hand in her own for inspection."You're pissed and your hand's mangled? What did you hit? A wall?" she asked as she took in how most of the blood that stained the bandages was around his knuckles rather than toward his wrist or on the underside of his hand.

"Hitta window of someone's car," he told her. "It broke."

"I bet it did," Pansy mumbled as she went over her clipboard for Weasley. It seemed they wanted her to explain how to used the topical antibiotics they gave him for his hand and how to change the bandages. Weasley didn't need any of that. Once he sobered up, he could buy the necessary salves to fix it all himself. Instead, Pansy put the chart on the hook by the door and crossed her arms. "I'm surprised you're here at all. How did you end up at the hospital?" she asked.

"One of those yellow cars with the checkered stripe brought me!" he proclaimed, sounding almost proud of the feat.

Rolling her eyes, Pansy clarified by asking, "No, how'd you end up in the area?"

"Hermione an' I were at her mum's and we were fightin'. She kicked me out an' told me to go back home. I didn't. I went to a pub instead."

"This happened today?" Pansy questioned with a raised eyebrow.

It was Weasley's turn to roll his eyes as he sneered, "Duh, Parkinson."

Giving the injured hand a none too gentle squeeze, Pansy hissed, "Watch it, Weasel."

He made a plaintive noise and whispered, "I think she wants a divorce."

Pansy, for a moment, was left speechless. What was she supposed to say? _I'm sorry Weasley_? She wasn't sorry. No, in fact, she was rather glad it was now the brave, can-do-no-wrong, beloved, hero of the wizarding world that was in turbulence rather than her. If they were at a pub together, she'd have laughed in Weasley's face. But they weren't. They were at the hospital where she was expected to be polite, kind and sympathetic to patients (even if she hated their guts). So, Pansy did her best to make him feel better by saying, "You should thank your lucky stars, she always was a shrew."

Unfortunately, this had the opposite affect of what she had hoped on Weasley. Instead, he scowled."Oi! Shut up! That's my wife you're talkin' about!"

Ducking out of the way as he began to flail his hands around, Pansy argued, "I'm not wrong, though!"

"Take it back! Take it back!" he howled.

Worried that the racket Weasley was calling would draw the attention of doctors and nurses on either side of their room, Pansy shoved her hands over the man's face. "Okay! fine!" Pansy snapped. With fake saccharine and sincerity, she said, "Missus Weasley isn't a shrew."

Weasley nodded, falling silent for a few minutes.

Feeling confident that she could now take her hands from his lips, Pansy was pained to realize she couldn't quite bring herself to. His breath felt so warm on her skin; it made her want to lean in for even more. It was funny, Pansy thought. Usually, she could kill any desire and attraction she felt for her patients by simply reminding herself they were filthy muggles. Weasley, though, was a wizard just like her and pureblood to boot. It made her shiver in excitement. How long had she gone without touching a wizard in such an intimate fashion? Almost six years now…

Gently removing her hands from his face, Weasley whispered, "Ya know, I think she's been seein' someone else. There's this smarmy Italian guy in her department at the Ministry an' he and her have worked late together a lot these past couple months."

Pansy, again, was at a loss. At least this was a situation she could empathize with, though. Breaking up with someone was just an all around rotten business. Especially when you could see it coming, but knew there was nothing you could do to change it. "That's… I'm sorry to hear that, Weasley," she said.

Thinking back to her last boyfriend (and only one), Draco, she grudgingly allowed herself to admit, "At least Draco had the decency to break things off before he went out looking for a woman who was more 'compatible' with the 'new' him." Pulling herself up beside him on the examination table then, Pansy groused, "What a load of shite that was. Astoria is a little prude, not more progressive. It's a shame Draco wouldn't even look at her sister. Just because Daphne never had any qualms about snogging whoever she could get to follow her into empty classrooms doesn't mean she's a whore."

"Ha! Ha!" Weasley laughed.

A smiling ghosting across her own lips, Pansy asked, "Think that's amusing, do you? I'm sure you'll guffaw even more at what I can tell you about the Patil twins." Letting their knees knock together, she took private pleasure in their shared warmth as she told Weasley, "Our families knew each other a bit growing up. Did you know Padma's first kiss was with her cousin? She was ten and he twelve at the time. Isn't that just pathetic?"

Weasley's face twisted into one of disgust. "That's not funny! That's–It's–Yuck!" he spat. "I'dda never kissed any of my cousins. Not even if you paid me!"

Pansy sighed loudly. She should have known he would think it was abhorrent. "Why am I not surprised?" she asked in a sarcastic drawl.

"'Cause you know I got morals, unlike you," Weasley mumbled as he dropped his head onto her shoulder.

Pansy jumped at the surprisingly friendly touch. She knew she should shove him away; this was Weasley, after all. He was trash. The antithesis to everything she believed in. And, even more importantly, a patient. Yet… Sighing, she began to run her hand through his hair. "I don't think anything's all that wrong with it, honestly. It's just amusing to me that her cousin was her first kiss. You would think she could have done better than that. She's not hideous," she explained to Weasley.

Shifting them a little so his head rolled down to lay atop her chest, she began to scratch at the spot behind his ear. It was where Draco had always enjoyed being touched most. Looking down at Weasley, she asked, "Is it really that disgusting? Us purebloods have been marrying cousins and spawning heirs and heiresses with them for years. Though… You Weasleys are the black sheep of our kind, aren't you? What exactly do you teach your children? The opposite of what _decent_ witches and wizards consider to be appropriate behavior?"

Weasley rolled his head around so that their gazes met. "I teach my kids everyone's human, not just witches an' wizards like them," he informed Pansy in a patronizing tone. Then, almost like he was actually curious, he inquired, "What do you teach your kid?"

Pansy had to look away from Weasley's surpisingly tantalizing blue eyes as she said, "What I was taught growing up. I make sure Free knows she's better than the girls she goes to school with, she's better than her teachers, our neighbors, and my coworkers, because, unlike them, she can do magic."

"People must hate you two," Weasley mumbled.

Pansy laughed, thinking about how often her daughter was invited to others students' homes and the way children cried when Freesia didn't invite them to her birthday party. Grinning proudly, she said, "Quite the contrary."

"Oh really?" he asked, disbelieving and studying her closely for falsehoods.

Letting her grin grow ever wider, Pansy informed Weasley, "Just because we know we are superior doesn't mean we flaunt it at every chance we have. Why would we? We're on top and everyone can tell just by the way we walk."

He smiled. "You sure are full of yourself."

Pansy brushed back Weasley's bangs and let her grin soften into a smile akin to his own. "So are you," she murmured. "Or, have you fallen off that pedestal of yours?" she asked in a whisper.

"Hey, are you superior in bed too?"

Startled by the question, Pansy sputtered, "What kind of question is that!"

A sad little frown starting at the corner of his lips, he said, "The kind a smashed, jilted, vengeful husband asks."

Pansy bit her lip. This was Ronald Weasley. He was trash by pureblood standards, a blood-traitor, and, on top of that, a Mudblood-fucker. It was thanks to him and his blasphemous beliefs that she was now forced to work in the Muggle world. It may have not been his fault she became pregnant, but it sure had been his and his damn people's fault she couldn't get a job after her parents kicked her out of her family's home. No one would hire her, the girl who had wanted to sell out Harry Potter to the Dark Lord for the safety of Hogwarts.

It was on the tip of Pansy's tongue to tell Weasley to bugger off, that she was not so far fallen that she'd fuck the likes of him, but, then, she began to think seriously about what having sex with Weasley would mean. He _would_ come to his senses when he sobered up and realize what he'd done. He'd be ashamed, horrified, and scared. He'd want their affair to be kept quiet and pretend it never happened. Pansy was willing to bet he would do just about anything for her to buy her silence. A list of endless demands scrolling in front of her mind's eye, Pansy shivered in anticipation for what was to come.

"Oh, why not?" she said, trying to sound as if she was making her decision on a whim, rather than with the calculation that she had. Moving to straddle Weasley, she whispered into his ear, "This better be amazing, Weasley. I haven't shagged since Draco married his little goody-goody of a wife."


	2. The Aftermath

For Ron, waking up was a process of deduction. Was the couch he stretched out on his? A casual hand brushing across the cushion beneath him told him no. It was slick and cool, like leather. Not warm and scratchy like the polyester-print sofa his parents had given him and Hermione when they moved into a place of their own. Next, was he wearing pants? No, but he was wearing shorts, his shirt, and a sock on his left foot. Not a great sign, he had to admit. Finally, sucking in a deep breath, he _prayed_ that when he opened his eyes he'd see Harry's living room. Carefully cracking his eyes open, Ron grimaced at the stabbing pain it caused him as light filtering in from some nearby window hit his retinas.

"You're awake," someone – young – said.

Turning his head, Ron blinked at the sight of a vaguely familiar girl dressed in what appeared to be an adult's jim jam top. Slowly sitting up, Ron mumbled, "Uh, yeah."

"Mum says you were smashed and that's why she brought you home from work," the girl told him.

Ah, now he remembered who she was, this was _Pansy's_ daughter. As soon as the thought was finished, Ron flushed in both embarrassment and shame. Pissed as he may have been last night, it'd not been enough to black out what he'd done with Pansy Parkinson in that little muggle exam room. Averting his eyes, he replied, "Erh, yeah, I guess so."

"She hasn't ever brought a man home before," the girl told Ron. Then, puckering her lips, she titled her head and said slyly, "Well, except for Daddy. But that was before he married _Astoria._ "

Ron's mouth fell open. Merlin! This kid was _Draco's_? "Um," Ron said dumbly.

"Freesia!" Pansy snapped from behind them. "What did I tell you about waking him?"

Standing up, Freesia crossed her arms. "I didn't!" she argued. "He did it all on his own!"

Ron heard Pansy make an angry noise and the girl, still pouting, stomped away. Watching her slim form walk down a hallway adjoining the room, he gave a pitiful moan when she disappeared and a door slammed shut.

"Oh, she didn't slam it that hard, you baby." Pansy sneered as she sat down in the spot on the coffee table her daughter had previously resided in.

Ron scowled. "Tell that to my head," he grumbled.

Rolling her eyes, Pansy crossed her legs and said, "Last night was… fun."

Once again, Ron felt the heat of shame creep up his neck.

Grinning like a cat with its cream, Pansy leaned in so close that her lips were nearly touching his ear. In a husky whisper, she asked, "Want to do it again?"

Throwing himself as far from Pansy as he could while still remaining on the couch, Ron shook his head frantically. "No! Last night was a mistake!"

Pansy gave a deep, throaty laugh. "Thought so," she said, still smiling.

Ron frowned, now confused. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"You don't want anyone finding out about what we did, do you? _Especially_ that shrew of a wife you have."

"She's not a shrew! And yes, no one needs to know about this. I was pissed, okay? There's nothing else to it," Ron told Pansy, praying that this was the end and that the glint in her eyes was just amusement.

Pansy tapped her chin with a manicured nail. "What will you give me for my silence? I'm sure, if I liked, I could take this little tale to _The Daily Prophet_ and make a small fortune."

His hands cold and clammy, Ron shakily said, "You wouldn't."

"You might be trash and a Mudblood fucker, but you're still pure. _I_ have nothing to be ashamed of, only you," Pansy replied, smirking.

Lips curling into an angry snarl, Ron hissed, "You are such a _bitch_."

"Why, thank you!" Pansy cooed.

Getting up, Ron started to look around for his pants and shoes. When he couldn't find them anywhere nearby, he turned to the watching woman and demanded, "Where are my pants and shoes!"

Pansy brought out her wand from her robe and with a flick of it, his shoes and pants zoomed into the room. "I had them in my bedroom," she said. "Free's a nosey kid and would have taken _a lot_ of interest in your wallet."

"You're raising a thief?" Ron gasped.

The woman crossed her arms. " _No_ ," she spat. "There are pictures of your children and _wife_ in that wallet, Weasley."

It took a moment for his tired brain to figure it out, but when he did, Ron gave a brief smile. "Asks a thousand and one questions, does she? Sounds like my Rosie."

Pansy's own eyes were a little softer as she nodded. "That she is," she agreed. "On the topic of Freesia, I don't want you to say a word about her to anyone you know. That's what I'm asking for in return for _my_ silence. Some day soon people are going to realize she's my daughter. What I want is for it to be discovered on our, no, _Freesia's,_ terms."

Ron considered this. He had thought, once or twice, about mentioning running into Pansy to Hermione before, but it wasn't something he'd felt he _had_ to share either. Keeping Pansy and her daughter a secret seemed far too easy, far too simple a request for Pansy to be making. "What else do you want?" Ron asked.

Pansy grinned. "One hundred and fifty pounds," she proclaimed happily. "I need the money for a trip I promised Free."

"Why can't her father pay for it? Last time I checked, the Malfoys still have more money than three fourths of the population," Ron said.

The woman's face flashed with shock before settling into stony resolve. Obviously she didn't think he knew who Freesia's father was. It made Ron smirk; he almost wanted to taunt her for failing to teach her daughter how to be a secretive Slytherin like herself. Before he could, however, Pansy was on her feet again, nose crinkled in disgust.

"I'm _not_ asking him," Pansy snapped.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why not, but he decided against it. "Fine, fine, whatever. In return, though…" Ron turned his gaze away from Pansy, wracking his brain for something that could ensure that Pansy didn't tell a soul about their affair. Some kind of a contract, perhaps? Maybe a-

"An Unbreakable Vow!" Ron burst out, feeling lips lift in triumph.

Pansy crossed her arms, looking uncomfortable. "You want an Unbreakable Vow? That's a bit much for something like this, wouldn't you say?"

"No, not at all," Ron disagreed. "I don't trust you. If you're life hangs on your promise, though, I'm fairly sure you won't break it. Not with a daughter who needs you."

She glared.

Ron stared right back.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, Pansy nodded. "Fine," she said. "Can we… We just need to wait a little bit. One of my daughter's schoolmates will be stopping by to pick her up for dance lessons soon. Then we can make it."

"What's wrong with now?" Ron demanded. "I need to be getting home."

Pansy stamped her foot. "I won't do it with Freesia here!" she snarled.

Ron put up his hands. "Okay!" he said, bewildered by her ferocity.

Relaxing some, Pansy called out, "Free! Come eat breakfast! The eggs are done."

Moments later, Freesia walked out her room, dressed in sweats and hair tied in pigtails. "Did you put cheese on 'em?" she asked.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "When don't I?" she asked.

Hurrying past her mother on her way to the kitchen, the girl said, "You forgot once."

"Just once!" Pansy yelled, tone exasperated, "and because I did, you're going to doubt me every time after?"

"Yes!" Freesia shouted back.

Ron began to chuckle.

Spinning around, Pansy, faced twisted in irritation, snapped, " _What_?"

"Nothing," Ron said. At her raised eyebrow, he elaborated, "Well, it's just you sound so… _Ordinary_. Your kid too. I imagine in another year or two Rose will talk to me the same way. She's sharp, you know? Like Freesia."

Frowning, Pansy slowly lowered herself down in a chair kitty corner to the couch. Rubbing her knees as she stared off in the distance, Pansy mumbled, "I'm not sure if I should be insulted or take that as a compliment. I always imagined that one day I'd marry Draco and any child we had would be raised as I was. House Elves mostly tending to our child's daily needs. We'd have our part in their life, of course, but…" she trailed off, one finger beginning to trace her lower lip.

Ron stared. He hadn't noticed before, but her lip was quite pouty. Attractive even. Recalling how he kissed and sucked that lip last night, Ron had to bite his own to resist the urge to repeat the act.

She shrugged. "This wasn't what I envisioned for my life, but I'm glad for it – if only for the fact that Freesia and I are closer than I ever was with my mother when I was her age."

"That's – nice," Ron replied stiltedly.

Lips flickering into a smile, Pansy called out, "Free, why don't you come out here and eat with Mister Weasley and I?"

A moment later, the girl flounced into the living room, plate of eggs and fruit in hand and fork in the other. Taking a seat beside Ron, she asked, "Where do you work, Mister Weasley?"

Startled by the question, Ron answered honestly, "I help my brother run his joke shop."

Glancing to her mother, Freesia said, "That's sweet! You know what I want to be when I grow up? A ballet dancer."

Pansy's head fell back, a loud sigh leaving her. "Freesia, that's not a practical profession."

Ron knew he was being set up, but couldn't help himself from saying, "Neither is running your own business sometimes. But it's what I do. If Freesia sets her mind to ballet…"

The woman scowled at him. "Keep your ugly nose out of this, Weasel!"

Ron just shrugged. "Fine," he said. Turning his head a little so he caught Freesia and Freesia's gaze alone, he mouthed to her, ' _Follow your dreams_.'

A wide grin splitting across her features, Freesia turned her head toward her plate and began to shovel her breakfast into her mouth. Looking toward Pansy, he saw that she was staring off into space, rubbing at her forehead. Feeling out of place and nervous once more, Ron began to scrutinized Pansy's apartment.

It was of decent size, he realized now. Roomy, even. The furniture was of a more traditional variety, but modern, even _Muggle_ accents infringed on what was nearly a passable Magical abode. Tucked into one corner of the room was a computer and hanging on the wall beside it, a phone. Casting his eyes over the rest of the walls, he found even more Muggle attributes.

Unmoving photos of Freesia lined the walls. There were photos of her from a bald infant, to a messy-faced toddler, to a pouty, tutu-wearing six or seven year old, to a grinning nine or ten year old proudly holding a medal out for the photographer to capture. Turning his gaze back to the mother and daughter, Ron mused that the pair lived much more like Half-bloods than the Purebloods that they were.

"Freesia, how old are you?" Ron asked, wondering how long it would be until he could start listening for mention of her when Neville shared his funny Hogwarts anecdotes.

Putting down her empty plate, Freesia proudly declared, "I'll be eleven in two months! I start at Hogwarts next fall."

Ron gave a low whistle. "Pretty exciting stuff, huh?"

"Oh yeah!" Freesia agreed with a bob of her head. "Mum says I can get a familiar for my birthday."

Leaning forward in interest, Ron asked, "What do you think you'd like? I had a rat," Ron said while leaving out the part that his rat never actually was one.

"I was thinking about getting one of those, actually," Freesia told Ron, a twinkle in her eyes. "One that has a grey spot on his back, because then I can call him Greyback."

Ron didn't understand why she'd want to do such a thing, but made a noise of approval. "That's a wicked idea."

"Rats are rather useless, though, Free. Are you sure you wouldn't rather have an owl?" Pansy asked.

Her jaw going rigid in stubbornness, Freesia shook her head. "No, Mum," she said. "Rats are cute."

Pansy's expression lost all patience and her lips pulled back into a sneer. But, suddenly, an artificial chime filled the air. And with it, the threat of what Ron feared would have been a loud and vicious row was gone. Perking right up, Freesia shouted, "That's Daniela! See you, Mum! Mister Weasley!"

Grabbing a bag Ron had not noticed before from behind the couch, the girl bent to give her mother a kiss before racing out of the flat, leaving Ron and Pansy alone.

Crossing his legs, Ron positioned himself toward Pansy. "So, whom should we call to make this vow?" he asked.

Pansy scowled. "Is this really the only way you'll agree to my terms?" she demanded.

Ron said, once more, "I don't trust you, so, yes."

Starting at him for a long, nerve-wracking moment, Pansy sighed. "I'll call Draco."

" _Draco_?" Ron hissed, distaste for the idea twisting his lips into a frown.

"Who else would you suggest?" Pansy snapped. "How about one of your friends? Oh, wait, they'd tell your shrew of a wife wouldn't they?"

Ron threw his hands up angrily. She was right and he _hated_ it. Even more than that, he hated that it had to be Malfoy to officiate it if he wanted to ensure Pansy would keep her damn mouth shut. "Fine!" Ron spat. "Just make sure he knows he'll be taking a vow of his own as soon as he makes ours!"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Of course," she said.

* * *

Weasley was now twenty minutes gone and Pansy still couldn't bring herself to look directly at Draco. Instead, she stared down at her toenails. The mauve color she had painted them just two days ago was already chipping away. Perhaps she should clean them and paint them something darker? Burgundy, maybe. She was in quite the mood for something deep and aching.

She wondered what Draco thought of all that had occurred. Was he amused by the trouble she got herself in? Was he angry with her? It had, after all, been rather idiotic of her to sleep with Weasley. He was one of the Wizarding World's heroes. Even if she sold the story of her affair to the highest bidder, not everyone who read it would turn against Weasley. Some of them (no, most of them) would have blamed her and her Slytherin wiles. They would have called her a home-wrecker and a whore.

In all the vitriol that would have flown around, what would have happened to Freesia once she was discovered? Pansy was afraid to ponder the possibilities.

She was lucky, Pansy realized with no small amount of surprise. Weasley may not be an overly intelligent man, and easily manipulated, but Weasley's knowledge of who Freesia's father showed he was more attune to others than she previously gave credit for, as did his rather astute decision to insist on an Unbreakable Vow between them. She had been pondering one herself before Weasley mentioned it, because it at least promised satisfying revenge if Weasley failed to keep his side of the deal. Pansy, far cleverer than Weasley ever would be, though, did play up and misdirect her surprise so that he would insist for it to be done sooner rather than later.

Pansy was glad she had. Now all the What-Ifs she imagined could have happened to her and Freesia were impossibilities she would (hopefully) never have to fear. Weasley couldn't speak a word, if he didn't want to leave his children fatherless after all.

(She suspected that was the last thing he would do as well, given how fondly he spoke of his daughter).

"So, when did gingers become your thing?" Draco asked suddenly.

Pansy frowned as she met Draco's gaze for the first time in an hour. She was relieved by what she saw in them. They were bright and crinkled at the corners with amusement. It did not seem he was at all angry with her for what she had done. Maybe it had yet to sink in, how terribly it could have ended for herself and Freesia? Either way, all Pansy wished to do was smile at him. In the end, though, she did not in favor of keeping up the usual biting repertoire that they had.

"When did prudes become yours?" she countered.

Draco's glee bled away and he sighed. "Ronald Weasley, Pansy?" he chided. "Really?"

"It's better than me shagging a Muggle, isn't it?" Pansy returned.

He twiddled his thumbs in his laps, averting his eyes as he hummed, "Mmm."

Gritting her teeth, Pansy said, "Don't give me that, I know you're not as reformed as you want everyone to think you are."

Draco looked up sharply, frowning. "It doesn't mean I'm not trying to be," he argued. "Change is not instantaneous."

Pansy scoffed.

Rolling his eyes, Draco said, "Come off it, Pansy. You live side-by-side with Muggles, surely your views have been altered these past ten years?"

Pansy's views had changed in some ways. In particular, she thought the Muggles were perhaps even more innovative than witches and wizards (E-mail was so ingenious! No communication system wizards had was as easily kept private or so fast or allow for the same brevity or lengthiness that it did for the E-mailer) and not the dullards she was raised to think they were.

That was the last thing she was going to admit to, however.

Putting on an airy smile, Pansy replied, "No, not really."

Draco snorted. "You are such a liar."

Uninterested in having her lie pecked away at until she was forced to admit the truth, Pansy pursed her lips and changed topic by asking, "How is Scorpius?"

"You don't care about him," Draco declared, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Freesia does."

Glowering at her now, Draco sat up a little straighter and grumbled, "Then why doesn't she write me to ask about him?"

Looking to her nails once more, Pansy told Draco in a distinctly smug tone, "Because she's convinced there's no point in sending letters because your wife will only intercept them before they get to you."

"Who told her that?" Draco demanded. "Astoria would never."

Frowning, Pansy said, "Astoria isn't the sweet wifey you think she is."

"Why must you pit my daughter against her?" Draco asked.

She made a derisive noise and leveled her ex-lover with an angry stare. "Why must you ask inane questions? You _know_ why!" Pansy snapped

Draco sighed. "Pansy."

Stilling glaring at him, she hissed, "Draco."

Gaze annoyingly tender and sorrowful, he questioned softly, "How long will you stay bitter? How long will you let your hate fester? Until it turns you into an ugly crone that has no one in the world?"

She stood up. Pointing toward the door, Pansy said, "You can leave now."

"Pansy…" he pleaded.

Pansy only crossed her arms. "Now, Draco."

Slapping his hands down on the arm of the sofa, he stood up and snapped, "Fine!"

Feeling a twinge of guilt as he stalked toward the door, she called, "Draco?"

Whirling around, he demanded, "Yes?"

Biting her lip, Pansy took a moment to take a deep, calming breath. Staring down at her toes, she told him, "Freesia has a dance recital next Friday evening. She would be over the moon if you could come."

"I'll clear my calendar," Draco promised, voice more neutral, almost kind.

Glancing up, Pansy said, "Goodbye."

"See you soon," Draco returned with a small smile.

Once the front door closed behind him, Pansy rolled her shoulder and said to no one, "Thank Merlin that's done."

Now things could go back to normal. In another month, Pansy would have the money from Weasley and she could buy the plane tickets for Australia. Freesia was going to be beside herself with joy when she opened them for her birthday and realized that she was finally going to get to ride in an airplane _and_ go to Australia. The best part, however, was that there was no way Draco could intrude on their little holiday with his family because she didn't have to ask him for the money to buy Freesia's gift and tell him about it in the process.

There was no chance she and Free would run into him by chance at their hotel or on the beach, no, for the first time in years, Pansy would be able to relax and just enjoy what precious time she had with her little girl. Not fighting the smile that wanted to burst from her heart, Pansy gave a happy sigh as she swayed toward the kitchen in a half-remembered waltz.

For once, things were _finally_ going her way!

* * *

Unlocking the front door, Ron was ready to tumble into his bed for another hour or two of sleep. But upon spotting the couch, he decided it would work just as well as any bed (it was also much closer). Flopping down on it, he kicked off his shoes and threw an arm over his eyes to block out the light coming in from the windows. With another hour of sleep, maybe Pansy's place and what he did with her would feel more like a dream. However, just as Ron was about to doze off, the front door opened. Hearing a pair of tiny feet running toward him, Ron twisted onto his side and pleaded with all the powers that be that he was just imagining the sound of the door and his little girl's feet.

But when a little hand began to pinch his cheek, Ron cracked open an eye and mumbled, "Rose?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw her grin. "Daddy!" she cheered.

"What are you doing home already?" Ron groaned, batting away his daughter's tugging fingers.

A moment later, a sharp finger digging into his side caused Ron to sit up. There, he was confronted by the displeased countenance of his wife. "What are we doing–" she started, only to stop and give an irritated growl. Beginning to pace, she asked, "Where have _you_ been, Ronald Weasley! You look like–" Though, before Ron could know exactly what he looked like to her, Hermione stopped. Swooping down on him with a pained expression, Hermione cried, "Oh, Ron! What happened to your hand?"

Ron glanced to the kids. Rose was watching them intently, fingers in her mouth. Hugo, on the other hand, was far more interested in playing with the laces of Ron's shoes. Hugo was too little to know how to tie them, but he liked to pretend to. The same way he liked to wobble around in Hermione's heels and wear Ron's ties. His mum said many little children liked to play with their parents' things and called it the "I want to be Mummy and Daddy" phase. Eventually, Hugo would want to pretend to be others – like Rosie did – but for now, he and Hermione were his heroes as well as all he wanted to be.

The last thing Ron wanted to do was end his son's adoration early by having a row in front of the toddler. Gently extracting his hand from Hermione, Ron said, "I'll tell you, just…" Turning his head, he called, "Rosie? Can you play nicely with Hugo over there for a minute while Mummy and Daddy go have a little chat in the kitchen?"

Rose looked to the corner where Ron was pointing. She smiled when she realized it was _her_ play corner he was talking about. "Yes, Daddy," Rose agreed.

Smiling at the face that was so much like his own, Ron got up and gave Rose's nose a kiss. "Thatta girl," he praised as he let her go. Standing there a moment longer, he watched her take Hugo's hand and lead him from Ron's shoes to the other corner of the room. There, they sat down together. Handing Hugo one of her Quidditch-player dollies, they began to play some make believe game that Ron was sure couldn't be much different from the ones he once played with his own siblings.

Behind him, he heard Hermione clear her throat. Sighing softly, Ron let his head tip downward and gave his wife a hangdog expression. Rolling her eyes, she jabbed her finger toward the kitchen. Ron followed her.

Once in the room, Hermione turned around and glared. Ron walked past her to hover by the sink. The farther they were from the doorway the better. Rose, while curious, was usually very good about not snooping in on "grown up talk". Though, he suspected that was going to change sooner or later, especially given his and his siblings records as sneaks. He'd leave casting a _Muffliato_ to Hermione, however.

If he cast one now, she might very well get the wrong impression about what had happened to him.

"So, Ronald?" Hermione demanded.

Leaning back against the counter top, Ron turned his head to stare out the window above the sink. Gathering himself, Ron decided the simplest explanation would be best. Hermione didn't need every embarrassing detail that occurred up until Pansy. "You know how I get when I'm upset," he reminded her slowly. "After you told me to leave, I went to a pub to get smashed. I did. While I was smashed, I broke a window and the police picked me up for it. I just got released twenty minutes ago."

When he ventured a glance back toward Hermione, he saw she had her lips pressed thin. "I see," she hissed.

"Don't make that face at me!" Ron snapped. Pointing a finger at her, he told Hermione, "You're the one who told me to go! If you hadn't, I never would have gone to the pub! Why are you home anyway? I thought you were staying with your mother until Monday!"

Narrowing her eyes and flaring her nostrils, Hermione began to stomp away, poised to leave him all alone in the kitchen once and for all. "This is so typical of you, blaming me for what you brought on yourself!" she snarled over her shoulder. "I don't even know why I bothered to come home early…"

Ron grabbed Hermione's arm before she could leave him. "Okay, okay," he grumbled, "it's not your fault – not completely." Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron felt the need to tug his wife even closer as he insisted, "I'm sorry, okay? Can you just tell me why you and the kids are home? Did you and your mum get in a fight?"

"No, there was no fight." Hermione sighed and looked up at Ron with sad, apologetic eyes. "I just realized, after a night to sleep on it, I may have been a little irrational last night. I _have_ been working much later than usual these past couple months. While you had no right to accuse me of having an affair, I understand where you're coming from. I get why you might feel jilted."

Ron swallowed thickly, feeling even guiltier about what he'd done last night. "You know I don't actually think you and Gianni are having an affair, right?" Ron lied. He knew he should trust Hermione, she was far less ruled by her emotions than he was by his own. Even if she was attracted to Gianni, Ron should believe Hermione when she said she had the control not to act on feelings she may or may not have for those she worked with and for.

Sometimes, though, when Ron went to see Hermione for lunch at the Ministry, the way he would find them together made him uneasy and jealous. He _hated_ seeing Gianni and Hermione with their heads bent close over papers or that smarmy bastard touching his wife's arm to sooth her as she vented her frustrations to him. Ron hated it so, so much because he felt it should be _him_ who got to be so close to Hermione, him who soothed her after an irritating encounter with someone or after something fell through.

 _Not_ that damn Gianni.

Abruptly, Hermione squirming out of his hold pulled Ron from his thoughts. "I know," she said, sounding doubtful.

Seizing on the chance to elaborate, Ron told her, "I just wanted to hurt you last night. I'm sure you remember, but I've been getting a very _upsetting_ impression these past few months from seeing you two together. I know you said Gianni wouldn't be the reason if we did separate, which, while nice to know now didn't really help in the moment. I just thought it meant, still do, a little, that you _were_ thinking about a divorce."

"Oh Ron," Hermione whispered. "I'm sorry, I never meant to make you think I wanted a divorce. I don't, love. It's just… Sometimes, you do _think_ of reasons for why you should, you know?"

Ron didn't. Not in the way Hermione meant, anyway. He thought of hypothetical scenarios that would _lead_ to him divorcing Hermione. What she was thinking of were reasons for why she should divorce him _now_. No catalysts situations, just plain facts that already existed.

He didn't say this, however. Instead, he said, "I know your work is important, I know you can't just take time without a reason, but the kids are always asking for you. They miss you. _I_ miss you, Hermione. Seeing you for a handful of hours a week isn't enough for any of us. I don't want to sound like Mum, here, but the kids won't be young forever. Soon they aren't going to want us around." Licking his lips, Ron reached out once more and took Hermione's hand in his. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I… If there were ever a reason for why I'd take the kids and leave, it'd because you get too wrapped up in Ministry stuff."

Hermione took a staggering step back, mouth forming into an 'o'. He winced. It was at times like these that Ron wished he knew how to speak more sensitively. Hermione needed to know why he'd leave her, because it was becoming a more and more plausible scenario with every passing day.

Ron thought of Pansy, of other women he'd felt tempted to be more than just friends with, of how Rose would stomp through the kitchen at dinner time when Hermione wasn't there for it, the way Hugo shied away from kisses that Hermione gave him. They were warning signs of the impending spark, Ron was sure, if nothing was done soon. He then told Hermione, "With how things are right now, you might just wake up one day and find yourself alone. No, no, don't say anything yet. Let me finish, Hermione! I'm not saying this to upset you, I'm saying this because I'm trying to get you to see that the kids and me are just as important as work and if you don't do something soon, we'll think we aren't. We'll get that divorce neither of us seem to want!"

Hermione, her hands slack by her side, just sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. Stepping forward, she brought Ron's face down for a soft, lingering kiss. When she pulled away, Hermione whispered, "You're right that I work too much and don't show how much you all matter to me very well because of it. How about this? We both know I can't take off anymore time from work right now, we're in the middle of finalizing our proposal for a change in House Elf laws, but… Why don't we start planning for a trip in about two months time? A holiday to Australia could be fun, don't you think?" Outright smiling now, Hermione teased, "Maybe we can reenact a bit of our Honeymoon then, hm?"

Grinning, Ron embraced Hermione tightly and said, "Yes, let's do that."

* * *

Freesia's most important birthday gift in hand, Pansy slipped into her daughter's still dark room and grinned. Weaving around dirty clothes that were scattered across the floor, she reached her daughter's bed and took a seat at the foot of it. Taking a moment to just stare at the soft, sleeping face of her daughter, Pansy thought of when her little girl was just a baby. She'd been a darling. So lovely with her chubby cheeks that were perfect for kissing and her sweet brown eyes which glittered and twinkled with endless wonder.

(It was almost a shame Freesia, and all babies, really, couldn't stay as one).

Leaning forward, Pansy brushed a hand down her daughter's face. "Wake up, birthday girl," she whispered into her ear.

Freesia's eye cracked open. Then, with a sleepy huff, she turned away and whined, "Muuum, g'way!"

Pansy sighed dramatically. "I guess I'll just to find some other birthday girl to give this present to!" she sing-songed, not bothering to smother her amused smirk.

"No!" Freesia, now wide-awake, cried. She twisted around to face Pansy once more. "I'll take it."

"I don't know if you deserve it anymore…"

Freesia made a frustrated noise and sat up. "I'm sorry, Mum. Please, please, please with sugar on top can I have it?"

"Well, if it's with sugar on top," Pansy said. Handing over the green and silver wrapped plane tickets.

Taking the gift, Freesia turned it over in her hands. "Is this my Hogwarts letter?"

"No, you'll get that in a few hours," Pansy told her.

Frowning in confusion, Freesia just stared at the slim gift. "Then what is it?" she asked.

Rolling her eyes, Pansy said, "Just open it!"

Shrugging, Freesia did so. At the sight of the tickets, her eyes grew to twice their size as her mouth fell open. Looking between the tickets and Pansy, Freesia gave a loud shriek before tackling her with a hug. "Thank you, Mum! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Squeezing her daughter, Pansy grinned into her daughter's neck and said, "You're welcome."


	3. The Surprise

Strolling along the Australian seaside, Ron soaked it all in. The sun, Hugo and Rose darting in and out of the waves, Hermione's sweaty hand in his… He wanted to memorize every detail. This moment now was one of perfection. While Ron _hoped_ Hermione would keep up her new work schedule (home every day by six-thirty, no working _at all_ on Sunday), he knew better than to believe it was permanent. Hermione had a way of getting caught up in things and the next time something big went through her office, they could very well end up at square one again. Ron loved Hermione (frizzy hair and all), he admired her drive, all the change it had brought to their world and lives, he adored how passionate she was about supporting the underdog…

Yet it was that same nose to the grindstone attitude that was hurting him, them, their _children._ With Hermione's passions so fixedly on work, Ron didn't know how well he would do at resisting the temptation of another woman now that he had been with Pansy. Ron understood he could be a little slow on the uptake sometimes; yet he was not obtuse enough to believe if he started another affair it would be as easily hidden as his one with Pansy. With Pansy, both of them had people to protect from the spotlight and it had been easy enough to strike a deal that suited each of them. Ron knew if (when) Hermione found out about his affair, she'd question not just him, not just their relationship, but _everything_ about them – including herself.

Ron didn't want Hermione to question herself or the things she did and had done. They were _good_ things and Ron didn't want her regretting her work because he put himself in situations where manipulative, opportunistic women were all too happy to pounce on him when he was weak and looking for false-closeness. None of that was her fault and he didn't want her to think that she was to blame and try and change herself completely in response.

All Ron wanted was for Hermione to slow down a tad. For her to spend a little more time at home, a little more time with him and the kids permanently. Maybe not nitpick as much about how he was raising their children. 'Nothing Unreasonable,' Ron thought, as he stared at Hermione's face with a scrutinizing glare.

"What's the broody gaze for?" Hermione asked, turning her head to look at him.

Ron's eyes went wide. "Erh…"

"Mummy! Daddy!" Rose shouted, effectively distracting Hermione.

"What, lovely?" Hermione asked when their daughter skidded to a stop before them, hands cupped close to her chest.

Giving Hermione a smile as he let go of her hand, Ron crouched down beside their sandy daughter. "What do you have there, Rosie?" he asked.

Opening her hands, she revealed a pretty white shell. "Very nice," he complimented. Looking up, he said, "Hermione, take a look at the shell Rose found. It's pretty, isn't it?"

Squatting down beside him, Hermione nodded very seriously. "Yes, it is. I think that's the best one you've found yet, Rosie. Good job."

Beaming at the praise, Rose said, "I'll save it in my swimsuit."

"Oh, sweetheart–" Hermione began.

Ron put a hand on her arm as Rose dropped it down the front of her one-piece. "That's a lovely idea. Just let us know if you'd like us to hold it for you later." Hermione raised an eyebrow as Rose ran off to join Hugo in running at the waves. He shrugged back at her. "It's not hurting anything," Ron said.

Hermione hummed softly. "You're right," she agreed after a moment. "We're on holiday. Why fuss?"

He nodded, glad that Hermione was willing to let Rose be rather than argue about his "dubious" parenting (as had happened in the past). Standing back up, Ron offered a helping-hand to Hermione. With her in his grip once more, he pulled her up and started to ask, "What do you think we should do about–"

"Mister Weasley?"

Ron jolted. Staring into a frighteningly familiar face, Ron felt his blood run cold. "Uh," he mumbled.

Freesia Parkinson grinned. "Mum told me once you could tell who a Weasley was by how many freckles they have. She said it couldn't be you, since, you know, we're in _Australia_ , but I wanted to make sure for myself."

"Ron? Who's this?" Hermione hissed into his ear.

Ron could hardly make his lips create words, let alone force his tongue to move. It felt as if he was under a langlock hex. However, before Freesia could say who she was and reveal his indiscretions, a voice screamed, "FREESIA TRACEY PARKINSON!"

Hermione gasped as Ron himself went even more rigid. He was terrified. Was he going to die? Was _Pansy_ going to die _?_ Merlin, what would he do with her daughter? What about Rose and Hugo? Seeing someone die right before their eyes would traumatize them for life! And it would be even worse if it were him!

Kicking up sand as she approached, Pansy Parkinson only had eyes for her daughter. Still yelling as she grabbed ahold of the girl, she gave Freesia a good shake as she continued on her tirade. When her daughter was acceptably cowed, she let go of Freesia and asked, "What on earth made you run off like that, anyway?"

Freesia pointed a shaky finger at Ron. "It's Mister Weasley, Mum!" she explained.

Pansy finally looked his and Hermione's way. At the sight of him, she stiffened. "Isn't that something?" she murmured, coming to wrap her arms protectively around her daughter.

"Hello, Parkinson," Hermione said, obviously attempting to be polite. Especially now that their children had returned to his and Hermione's sides to watch the spectacle that was Pansy and her daughter.

" _Weasels_ ," Pansy sneered.

Hermione clucked her tongue, but did not take the bait. As for Ron, he was still too terrified that if he said anything, he would die. "I didn't know you had a daughter," Hermione remarked as she nudged their children behind them (what she was expecting Pansy to do to them, Ron didn't know; there was no way Pansy had a wand on her when wearing a swimsuit like that).

"Well, I do, Missus Nosey," Pansy said. "Now, if you please, get out of our way. We have a _very_ important reservation to make at the other end of the beach."

Ron yanked his children to the left, giving wide passage for Pansy and her daughter. Making a satisfactory noise, Pansy raised her head high in the air and waltzed past them, dragging her confused-face daughter behind her. After watching them disappear into nothing more than specks, Hermione turned back to Ron, a mildly annoyed, but also amused expression on her face.

"Still as rude as always. Though, she's let herself go," Hermione remarked.

Ron frowned. "Aren't you the one who always says not to fixate on someone's physical appearance?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It was just an observation!" she grumbled. Then, after another moment, she said, "Though, her daughter was a surprise."

"Maybe it's why she came to Australia."

His wife nodded. "That could be," she agreed. "Her daughter looks like she might be just a little younger than Teddy. After what she did, England undoubtedly would have been a horrid place for her to raise a daughter on her own." Tapping her cheek, Hermione turned and stared down the beach. "Though… It's strange that she told her daughter about you, don't you think?"

Ron felt his heartbeat pick up. He needed to think of something fast. "W-Well," Ron stammered. "Maybe Pansy has made a bedtime story out of the what happened at the Final Battle? I mean, we – Pansy and me – grew up on the story of Harry killing Voldemort as a baby. It's practically classical children's' literature in our world now, so, why wouldn't the Final Battle be a bedtime story now too?"

Hermione's expression turned thoughtful. "You may have a point," she said. "Teddy's been told Harry's story _and_ the story of the battle so many times that he groans when the the little ones ask for it at Weasley gatherings." A teasing smirk pulling at her lips, Hermione continued, "Given that it was by your freckles her daughter identified you, I'm sure the version Parkinson has been telling her daughter is less than flattering."

He forced a chuckle. "Yeah," he said. "You're probably right."

Taking Hugo's hand, Hermione suggested, "Why don't we head back to the hotel and clean up? It's about lunchtime."

Trembling ever so slightly with relief, Ron grinned broadly. "Let's."

* * *

The din of the restaurant nothing more than a blip in the face of her sulking daughter, Pansy settled in for the long haul. They might be here for the whole afternoon, she realized. Perhaps she should ask the waiter for a pot of coffee the next time he came by, her mug was already half-empty. 'No food, though,' she thought to herself. 'I'm still a little queasy from this morning's upset.' Focusing in on her daughter after a few moments of absent-mindedly watching the patrons of the pub, she found the look Freesia was wearing to be sigh-worthy. She knew that expression all too well and it was never a good sign for cooperation and agreeableness. Crossing her arms, Pansy leaned back in her seat and said, "Stop looking at me like that. Eat your fish and chips."

Freesia continued to glare at Pansy over her plate.

Narrowing her eyes at her daughter, Pansy leaned forward and hissed, "Eat!"

"Why did we have to leave so soon? Mister Weasley's nice," Freesia said.

Pansy scowled. "He was with his _family_ , Freesia."

"If he has a family, why did he spend the night at our flat?" the girl asked.

Rubbing her temples, Pansy shifted her gaze to the beach outside the little window beside them. Outside, there was a mother and son feeding bread to a bunch of birds. They looked as if they didn't have a care in the world. Pansy remembered that feeling. It had been so _nice_ … Now, she was wondering if she shouldn't cut her and her daughter's holiday short. Or change lodgings, anyway.

Not looking at her daughter, Pansy said, "He needed a place to sleep."

"Uh-huh."

Pansy's frown deepened. Had she been this perceptive at eleven? Known so much about the ways of men and women? She didn't think so. Though, the times and world she grew up in were a far cry from that of Freesia's. It really shouldn't be of any surprise to her. Drumming her fingers along the tiled-edge of the table, Pansy asked with an air of false desperateness, "If I let you get that damn rat for Hogwarts, will you stop asking about Mister Weasley?"

Freesia's eyes lit up, mouth curving into an eager smile. "Ye–!" she stopped mid-shout, chin dipping into her chest as her brows furrowed. "I won't be tricked!" she proclaimed. "Daddy asked me what kind of rat I wanted before we left and promised I'd get a big surprise when I came back from our Holiday! I'm already getting Greyback!"

With a groan, Pansy dropped her face into her hands. What did she do now? How did she explain to her daughter that Mister Weasley was half-mistake, half-calculation? Staring at her daughter through her fingers, Pansy asked, "Are you trying to ruin our trip by forcing us to talk about unpleasant things? Because that's what Mister Weasley is to us, an unpleasant _thing_."

Freesia dropped her gaze to her food. "I liked Mister Weasley."

Pansy reached across the table and laid her hand on her daughter's. "I know, love," she said. "But him and Mum were a one time thing."

Freesia slipped out of her grasp curled in on herself. "I thought maybe he was here on purpose."

"Oh, love…"

Pressing her palms against her eyes, Freesia warbled, "I know a woman doesn't _need_ a man, but I… I kind of was hoping you _wanted_ one and that he'd end up sort of being mine too."

Pansy stared at her daughter. Never in her life had she felt like such a failure. Of course her daughter wanted a man in their lives. What little girl _didn't_ want a father in their life? One who picked them up when they fell, took them to dance practice, made them dinner, was there to chase away monsters after a nightmare?

"I'm sorry," Pansy whispered. "Oh, Free, I'm so _sorry_."

Letting her hands fall away from her red eyes, Freesia offered a weak smile. "It's okay, Mum. It's not like I ever _asked_ for a Daddy who could live with us."

"But I should have known…" Pansy murmured, unwilling to accept her daughter's easy forgiveness.

Freesia reached over and gave one of Pansy's hands a comforting squeeze. "Mummy, it's fine. Really, it's fine. I know I said I wanted one, but that doesn't mean you aren't good enough. You are way more than good enough. You come to all of my dance recitals, buy me the prettiest hair clips, say goodnight even when I've been bad all day, let me throw slumber parties all the time, and say sorry when you're wrong."

It was Pansy's turn to start crying then. As her daughter soothed her, Pansy couldn't even find it in herself to be embarrassed. Finding out that you had done wrong by your child for almost all of their life and that they _still_ thought the world of you, left you with no other option but to make a disgusting, snotty, scene of yourself.

* * *

Ron felt quite badly about the morning. He really knew he shouldn't, because how was he supposed to know Pansy would be here _now_? But he did. He especially felt bad about how he treated her daughter. How he reacted to her. Upon reflection, Freesia had looked so _excited_ to see him. As if he'd made her day. Ron hardly ever made anyone's day. Not even customers at George's looked at him like that when he hooked them up with a wicked deal on joke items. Unable to wallow in the guilt any longer, he walked out of his and Hermione's room to see his wife tucking the kids under blankets on the sofa for an afternoon nap. Well, that was done. Was there something else he could do?

He looked around the tiny hotel room. Eyes landing on their beach gear beside the door, an idea coming to him. He asked, "Want me to run to the shop for some more sunblock? Our tube is half-empty and we have three more days here."

Not looking up from petting Hugo's curl's, Hermione nodded. "Please and thank you."

He smiled. "It's no trouble. Besides, you don't get to see the kids looking so angelic everyday."

She looked up at this, mirroring his smile with one of her own. "Isn't that the truth?"

He laughed and grabbed their room card. "I shouldn't be gone too long," he promised.

With half-wave toward him, Hermione turned away. Snaking a book off the coffee table in front of the sofa, she settled herself at their daughter's feet with a sigh and cracked open the hard-back. Shaking his head fondly, Ron left the hotel room. Stuffing his hands in his pocket as he walked down the hall, feeling full of purpose, Ron began to whistle a jaunty tune he'd heard on the Muggle Wireless the other day.

Soon, a piping voice began to belt out the lyrics from behind. Turning around, Ron was once again startled by what he saw.

"Freesia!" he yelped.

The little girl smiled. "Mum's run back to our room for something. We're going to the pool. Where are you going, Mister Weasley?"

Ron wasn't sure how this was happening. It had to be one in a million to start with, that they were here at the same time. To meet again? In the same _hotel_? One in a billion, surely! "To the corner store," he answered thoughtlessly. "I need to buy some sunblock for my kids."

She seemed to wilt a little. "That lady you were with earlier, that's their Mum, right?"

"Yeah," he answered. "Her name is Hermione."

Freesia narrowed her eyes. "If you're with their mum, why did you spend the night at _my_ mum's?"

Ron ran a hand through his thinning hair. Merlin's name, how did he explain this to a little girl? Should he just try and distract her until her mother could come and take her away? Undecided, Ron began by saying, "Well, Freesia…"

"What do you think you're doing?"

They both jumped. Turning, Ron blinked at the pale-faced countenance of Pansy. "Are you okay?" he asked her. "You look a little–"

"I'm fine. I was just a bit sick."

Unbidden, Ron felt concern well in his chest. Pansy was a bitch, but he hated the thought of her being ill, if only for how it had to be affecting her daughter's holiday. "How long have you been sick?" he asked. "Do you think you caught something on the flight here from England?"

Pansy scowled. "I doubt it. It's been going on even before we left."

Ron raised an eyebrow. Oh, this did not sound good _at all_. "Is getting sick the only thing that's been happening to you?"

"I don't have to tell you–!"

"Mum's been extra tired lately. She's always falling asleep in the middle of _Glee_ , when we watch. She's gotten a lot of bloody noses too, lately, haven't you?" Freesia listed off, anxiously twisting her fingers in the hem of her cover-up. "Is that bad?"

"Pansy–"

She shook her head fiercely. " _No_. You hear me? _No_. I made sure we used a – a –"

"I'm going to the corner store. Why not come with? I'll buy one. Better safe than sorry, wouldn't you say?"

Eyes wide and dilated, Pansy reached for her daughter. "I promised Free I'd take her to the pool. I can't."

Ron took a long, slow inhale. If Pansy refused him again, he was going to start yelling. That would be bad for both of them. Hermione would surely hear and come to investigate. "It won't take more than a few minutes," Ron insisted. " _Please._ "

Pansy pet her daughter's hair, a weary look that leaned toward defeat in her eyes now.

"For both of our peaces of mind," Ron said.

"…Okay."

Exhaling, Ron gestured for them to follow. "Come on, we can walk along the beach."

* * *

"Here," Ron said, thrusting the just-bagged pregnancy test at Pansy.

In any other situation, she would have been annoyed by his brusqueness, but right now, she just took it. Pansy only cared about finding out if she was really pregnant. Looking to her daughter, who was now sucking on a giant lollypop that Ron had bought for her, she said, "You wait here with Mister Weasley, okay?"

The rainbow candy made a popping noise as it was pulled out of her small mouth. "Yes, Mum."

Nodding, she shared one last grim look with Ron before ducking into the ladies' room. Standing in front of a mirror a moment, she just stared at her pallid face and shaking form. It was enough to bring on the now familiar nausea. God, could she? Could she really be _pregnant_? What the Hell was she going to do with the baby?

She knew, no matter what, Ron would help. He was a valiant Gryffindor, after all. A good father, too. Well, she assumed he must be. From her (vast) experience as a parent who made chit-chat with other parents, and a nurse to many parents, only good ones spoke so fondly of their children. Despite the lists of pros that came with having Ron as the father, Pansy was also well aware of the fact he didn't have the money to buy their child the best nanny or education available like Draco did for Freesia. He was a _Weasley_ and had two other children already.

She would have to talk it over with him if she was pregnant. After she lied about _not_ being pregnant in front of her daughter, anyway. There was little hope for her keeping it, Pansy was sure of that much. It could very well come out a _ginger_ , after all. Her grandmother had been one. Everyone knew those things could skip generations and Weasley traits were _strong_ from what she had seen. Sending a ginger Parkinson to Hogwarts would raise a plethora of questions that could very well come back to bite her and Ron in the arse.

Questions that could kill them.

'Yes,' she thought, 'It will have to go.' If her and Ron didn't decide to kill it now, maybe they could quietly give it away to a couple he knew that wanted a baby. At least she would know then that it was being raised as a proper, "modern" witch or wizard who'd never face the ridicule Freesia surely would once her lineage was discovered. Pansy would also be able to rest easy knowing Ron could check up on it now and again. He'd make sure it was well cared for. Happy. Loved. Everything she could ever want for a child of hers. Brushing a thoughtful hand down her stomach, Pansy was reminded of when she was pregnant with Freesia.

It had been ever so lucky she ran into Tracey Davis, the bleeding-heart of Slytherin, after a day of fruitless job and house-searching. After hearing her pathetic story, Tracey had gotten her in contact with her disowned uncle, who was living in the Muggle world with his Muggle wife, who was a nurse. The couple, just as soft as their niece, had been happy to let her stay with them until Freesia was born and then some. Tracey's aunt then helped her get a job in a hospital and found her a place to stay that fit within the price-range for homes Draco had given Pansy.

Pansy had found all of the kindness they showed her quite disgusting and suspicious. Like her, Tracey and her uncle were both byproducts of Slytherin's cutthroat politics. They should have taken advantage of her situation like a _proper_ Slytherin. Yet they hadn't. In the end, Pansy had felt it was only right to show her gratitude to them by naming her daughter after Tracey, and asking Tracey's uncle and aunt if they would be Freesia's legal guardian should anything happen to her. They had been pleased with her offering and Pansy was able to sleep comfortably at night knowing Freesia would be taken care of should she die.

In retrospect, everything had gone swimmingly with Freesia. It had been awful, getting kicked out of her home, disowned by her parents, and rejected by Draco, but it had been wonderful too. She'd found an independence so few women of her standing ever did. And while her life had been by no means perfect these past eleven years, they had been pleasant. Now, though, things were about to change.

Gathering what little courage she had together, Pansy nodded at her reflection. She could do this. Pansy walked into one of the loo's several empty stalls and locked it. Undoing her zipper, pulling down her shorts and knickers, she sat down on the toilet and pulled the pregnancy tester out of the box. Following the box's directions to a 'T', Pansy only stood up from the toilet when the stick's indicator turned pink.

' _Oh…_ '


	4. Chapter 4

_Ahead of them, Freesia weaved in and out of the waves. Sometimes, she would slosh further into the ocean, then shriek when she didn't manage to get away from an incoming surge of water on time. After failing to get away a couple of times, she ran back to them. Freesia started complaining about how her shorts were now all wet, that there was sand in her swimsuit, and, now, she couldn't possibly go swimming in the hotel's pool. They'd hate it if she brought sand into the pool's clean waters._

_"I'll buy you another suit, from the hotel's shop," Pansy promised. "That cute pink one you saw when we were checking in if you like."_

_Freesia beamed at the offer. "Yes, please Mum!"_

_"Then it's settled," Pansy said. "Now, go on, go back to the waves. You don't have to worry anymore."_

_Nodding in agreement, Freesia wasted no time at all in throwing herself at a swelling wave. Switching the bag of sunblock for his kids to his left hand, Ron told Pansy, "You spoil her."_

_Something like hurt flashed across Pansy's gaze. "You're one to talk. I have no doubts about who the 'fun' parent is in your household."_

_Ron clucked his tongue. "It's not a bad thing. Well, not_ that _bad of a thing. I mean, from what I've seen of Freesia, she's a good kid. Smart. Confidant."_

_"Brains and confidence are traits all Parkinsons are gifted with," Pansy replied with a lofty air._

_He laughed. "But not humility, it seems."_

_Pansy scowled briefly. Then, with some unease, she whispered, "But that's not_ all _we Parkinsons are born with."_

_"Oh?"_

_Fingers brushing down her middle, she said, "We are also born with liar-tongues."_

_Ron paused. He did not like the turn of this conversation at all. "What are you getting at, Pansy?" he asked warily._

_Fleetingly, her hand gripped his. "My room number is 109. When your wife and children are asleep, come see me. We have things to discuss."_

_His eyes went wide. "Earlier, when you said–"_

_"Not now," Pansy hissed, pressing sun-warmed hands to his lips to silence him. "Not in front of Freesia."_

_Ron didn't understand why not in front of Freesia, seeing as this potential baby would be her little brother or sister, but he respected the delicateness of not only the situation but Pansy as well. "I'll knock twice, so you know it's me."_

_"That's acceptable," she said, before turning her attention once more to her daughter._

-v-v-v-

Nervously, Ron hovered in front of Pansy's door. It was late. Far later than he had any right to be out of his and his family's hotel room. He hoped Hermione didn't wake, she would want to know where he had gone and Ron didn't think a lie about going for a midnight stroll would work very well on her. Staring down the curly, gold numbers nailed to Pansy's door, Ron whispered to soothe himself, "Everything is going to be fine."

Lifting his hand, he knocked twice.

A moment later, the door swung open.

Pansy, in sweats and a dressing robe, snapped, "Are you just going to stand there?"

Ron flushed, more in embarrassment than anger, before shuffling in past Pansy. Closing the door behind him, Pansy turned around to face him and asked, "You do know why I asked you to come, don't you?"

He frowned at her. "I'm not a complete idiot. I did get that you were telling me you lied about being _not_ pregnant earlier. On that note, why?"

Walking past him, she threw herself into a chair, a dark look on her face. "I'm not keeping it, that's why," said Pansy.

Approaching slowly, like she was a potentially dangerous suspect from one of the investigations he did during his time as an Auror, Ron shoved his hands in the pockets of his pajama bottoms, attempting to appear uncaring as one hand gripped his wand. Taking the seat across from her, he asked, "What do you mean you're not keeping it?"

She huffed a breath, though, it seemed more like a stalling method than an indication of annoyance. "I mean, when it's born, I want to adopt it out."

Ron relaxed a little. He'd feared what Pansy meant by "not keeping it" was she planned to have an abortion. Ron would have never agreed to something like that, not when the baby was part him too. "Why's that?" he questioned. "I'd help, where I can, with the baby."

"I'm sure you would," Pansy allowed. "But, you see, you're a _Weasley_ , and even if you aren't living in a mismatched hovel like your parents, you are not rich. Any child of mine should only have the very best in life. Unfortunately, on my salary, and whatever pittance you might be able to give, they will not. Their childhood will pale in comparison to Free's."

"You don't have to be rich, to be happy," Ron hissed, furious that it was a monetary reason of all things that made Pansy want to give away _his_ child.

Pansy plucked at a loose thread of her dressing robe. "No, you don't," she agreed. "But it certainly helps."

Ron scoffed.

Lifting her gaze to glare at him, Pansy said, "Besides that _excellent_ point, we also have to think about what its future will be like once it's older. It wouldn't be able to know you were its father, seeing as when it got to Hogwarts, it would recognize you from Chocolate Frog cards, textbooks, and the like and realize you're not just 'Daddy', but a war hero. Can you imagine the pressure it would feel to be like you? It will be incredible. Then add in the hatred it will receive for being _mine_ and it will become a warped thing that leads a terribly unhappy life."

Resting his chin on his fists, Ron remarked, "Aren't you pessimistic?"

"The word you are looking for is realistic, _dear_ ," Pansy snarled.

Sitting up straight, he said, "Don't call me that. You aren't–"

"–Your wife, I know." A grim smile on her lips, Pansy patted her stomach. "Just the mother of your bastard child."

Disgusted by her attitude, Ron made to get up. Maybe even leave. He couldn't deal with her and _this_ now, if she was going to be a bitch the whole time.

"What are you doing?" Pansy demanded, her hand gripping his sleeve.

Pulling out of her grip, he said, "Leaving."

"Don't you want to know who I wish to adopt it out to?" Pansy asked, voice turning desperate.

Ron sighed. Falling back into his seat, he crossed his arms and glowered at Pansy. He'd stick around just a little longer. But the next time she threw a barb his way, he would go. "Sure, tell me."

"It will go to the family you think will give it the happiest life."

He blinked. "What?" he sputtered. "You – You want _me_ to pick its adoptive family?"

Pansy nodded. "I don't really know too many witches or wizards these days. Certainly none I would willingly hand a child of mine over to, anyway."

He almost felt touched. To trust _him_ with picking the family… "I know a family who has been looking to adopt."

"Oh?" she prompted, eyebrows perking up in interest.

Ron began to drum his fingers along the arm of his chair. "It's my brother, actually. Percy? He was a Head Boy for a bit when we were in school. Now that their daughter, Molly, is getting older, they've been looking into finding another witch or wizard to adopt."

"Why a witch or wizard?"

He gave a half-shrug. "I think they don't care for the idea of bringing up a Muggle child in a world they will never truly belong in. It's bad enough for squibs, you know? They're raised to think they'll go to Hogwarts, become Aurors and Quidditch players, only to find out when they don't get their letter, that those dreams they have will never be. It'd probably be worse for a Muggle, seeing as they'd know from the start they never had a chance of amounting to anything in the world they call home."

Pansy made a thoughtful noise. "For all we know, it could end up being a squib."

"Maybe," Ron acquiesced, "but it also has a good chance of being a witch or wizard, seeing as we're both magical."

She sighed. "I suppose. Your brother, though, really?"

"Our child would be cherished."

Pansy's expression turned thoughtful. "It could come out a ginger," she informed Ron.

He furrowed his brows. "So?"

"It could end up looking a lot like you. Don't you think your brother will wonder about that?"

Ron sighed. "It could also end up looking nothing like me. Is this really what we want to worry about _now_?"

She pressed her lips into a thin line. "When _should_ we worry about the possibility of it being a mini-you?"

He threw up his hands. "Later! It's so earlier, we don't even know if the baby will make it to being born!"

"Are you wishing my baby _dead_ , Weasel?" Pansy growled, hunching protectively around her middle.

Ron rocketed to his feet. He couldn't believe Pansy! Like he would ever wish one of his children dead! "Stop!" he yelled. "You're putting words in my mouth!"

"You're the one who _suggested_ it might not even make it to the point of being born!" she roared back, finger pointed accusingly at him.

He balled his hands in his thinning hair. "Pansy!" he groaned. "I was just _saying_. That doesn't mean I _want_ it to happen."

"You could have fooled me," she sniped. "After all, we both know who has more to lose here!"

Ron let his hands fall limply to his side. It irked him how right she was. If it ever got out, that he was the father of Pansy's baby… "Okay," he relented. "You're right about that. I do have more at stake."

Pansy's eyes narrowed in suspicion like she didn't quite believe he would give in so easily without something else to add. "I am," she replied curtly, only the smallest hint of uncertainty present in her tone.

"Like I was saying, though. We're still months away from having to think about what to do about the baby. So, I suggest, for both of our sanities, that we let this rest for the night – maybe the whole holiday. We both know you're pregnant, we both know you aren't–

"– _can't_ –

"–keeping it, and that we like the idea of adopting it out to a family that I know. If you ask me, that's a very good start. So, why don't we call it a night?"

Pansy shuffled in her spot, breathing loudly through her nose for a moment, before grumbling, "Fine."

Smiling in relief, Ron leaned in quickly, pressing a hand to her stomach, before drawing back. "Great, g'night you two."

She blinked at him. "Night."

Walking toward the door, he called, "When we get back home if you ever have to write me, write to my brother's joke shop. I usually take care of the mail that comes through there, unlike at home, which is more of a free-for-all."

"I'll make sure that I do," Pansy said, coming up behind him to close her hotel room door behind him.

* * *

Stirring a spoonful of honey into her tea, Pansy reflected on her conversation with Ron. It had gone better (and worse) than expected. She was relieved that he hadn't protested her decision to put the baby up for adoption too much. If he had, she wasn't quite sure what she would have done. Obliviate him, perhaps? Thankfully, that had never come up. Though, his first choice for her baby's family troubled her.

While she was all for keeping problems in the family, Pansy felt uneasy about the idea. If the child was a ginger, who was to say Ron's brother wouldn't begin to question him about the baby's origins? Or that his brother's wife wouldn't begin to wonder if her husband had an affair and resent her child because of it? These were important scenarios to consider, she thought. Even if her child never saw her again after its birth Pansy wanted to feel secure in knowing it would grow up happy with people who would not let their questions about her child's origin affect how they raised or treated them.

Bringing the tea to her lips, Pansy considered Freesia. It wouldn't be too difficult to hide the pregnancy from her, she thought. The baby would be born before she finished her first year at Hogwarts. Pansy did worry, however, about what she herself would be like once her baby was gone. Giving up a child often took a toll on the mother in mental, emotional, and even physical ways. Freesia was a sharp girl, surely she would notice the changes in Pansy upon coming home from Hogwarts.

Sighing, Pansy massaged her temples and considered an idea that, before now, seemed absolutely blasphemous. Draco was often asking these days for Pansy to allow Freesia to visit him and his family for an extended period of time. He kept talking about how important it was that she bonded with Scorpius, that she learned about what being a Malfoy entailed (even if she did not carry his name). In the past, Pansy had rebuffed his pleas in numerous, polite, impolite, sympathetic, and vicious ways. Freesia was not a Malfoy, and she never would be. Draco had made sure of that when he refused to marry her all those years ago.

But now… Perhaps it wouldn't hurt for Freesia to spend a month or two with her father, to learn about him and his family in length. Pansy chuckled, low and dark. Perhaps Draco would see the truth about his "darling" wife. She doubted Astoria would be happy with Freesia's presence in her home for so long. The reminder of Draco's previous romance, the reminder that Pansy would _always_ have a place in Draco's life, if only because she was the mother of his first child, would wear on her.

Pansy expected Astoria might turn cold toward Freesia after a few days of her being in the home Astoria shared with Draco. Yet Pansy didn't worry for her daughter. She Knew Freesia wouldn't stand for being treated so icily. The moment Freesia grew sick of Astoria's meanness, she would spit fire at her stepmother (Pansy had not spent the last eleven years teaching her daughter to stand up for herself for nothing, after all). If Astoria was anything like her sister, she would not be able to control her temper and would return Freesia's fury.

And her daughter would be an oh so vindictive little thing (because she had learned from the best) and tell _Draco_. He wouldn't want to believe Freesia, of course, perhaps he'd even ask Scorpius if he'd been there to witness his mother and sister fighting. Maybe, once he learned that Freesia was _right_ , he would attempt to send her back to Pansy. Pansy, of course, would welcome her daughter home with open arms. She was a good mother, and would _never_ let her daughter remain someplace where she was so unwanted. Pansy could then remind Draco that she'd told him all along just what kind of woman his wife was, maybe hint it was now time he started watching her with Scorpius. If she could be so cruel to _one_ of Draco's children, why not the other? Especially after Scorpius had ratted her poor behavior out to him?

Perhaps Draco's watching, his suspicion, and mistrust toward Astoria would drive the woman mad. Maybe Astoria would demand a divorce – or at least a separation. If Pansy were ever so fortunate, their marriage would become ruined beyond repair. Draco would become as unhappy as her.

It was a lovely dream. One she hoped to happen with all her might. Placing a loving hand on her stomach, Pansy said to her baby, "Your big sister changed everything for me then, and you're changing everything for me now. I suppose that's what you two are, hm? Little bundles of change. Good and bad."

* * *

Creeping back into his and wife's room he felt his heart drop when Hermione asked in a whisper, "Where did you go?"

"For a walk," he replied while he silently thanked the darkness for its cover. Without it, Hermione would have seen Ron's terrified expression and known instantly he was lying.

Even so, there was a moment of disbelieving silence before Hermione murmured, "At one in the morning?"

Padding toward their bed, Ron replied, "I know. It sounds silly. I just couldn't sleep, though. I thought about watching the telly, but when I clicked it on I got static. I realized I didn't know enough about it then to find a way to get it to go away to watch something interesting, like that Torchwood story you like to catch when you can."

Humming, softly, Hermione brought her knees up to her chest and rested her arms on them casually as she said, "Rosie figured it out within fifteen minutes of us being in the room. Ask her in the morning to show you how to work the telly."

"I will." Slipping beneath the covers, Ron asked, "What are you doing up anyway? I didn't wake you when I came back, did I?"

Turning her head, He could just barely see Hermione's lips lift into a smile. "Oh no," she replied. "I've been awake for nearly half an hour now."

"What for? Couldn't sleep either?" Ron pressed.

There was a beat of silence before Hermione sighed. "I got a call from Gianni," she said.

"No!" Ron hissed. He knew exactly where this conversation was going to go. "No, Hermione! We're on _holiday_!"

Hermione's hand made a grab for his in the dark. Ron jerked back. "Ron, he wouldn't have called unless it was _very_ important. If I don't go back, the bill we've been working on for the past _year_ might not go through and we'll be back to square one."

Ron felt his shoulders sag. He knew that tone far too well. There was no changing his wife's mind. "What about the kids?" he asked. "They'll hate having to end our holiday early."

"Oh, Ron. Only I have to go," murmured Hermione. "You and the kids stay here and have fun. Who knows, I might even be able to come back in a couple of days!"

He doubted she'd be back in a couple of days. Things never went that well. Ron and the kids wouldn't see her again until they were back in England. "And if you can't come back before we're supposed to go home?" Ron demanded.

"The department has already agreed that as soon as the bill is passed, I'll have another week of holiday time I can use right away."

He huffed loudly. After a moment of silence, however, Ron hesitantly reached across the bed to bring Hermione into his arms. "Have you given any thought to switching departments? Like I asked? To one that's not so demanding?"

She went stiff in his hold. "I like my job," she said.

Ron let her go. "It was just a question."

"…I have. But every time I do, I think about all the good I'm doing in the one I work for now and I can't bring myself to start looking for a new job."

At least she was being honest, Ron thought. She could have lied. Hermione could have said yes, and told him she was having poor luck with her search for a new job or said she will and then never actually look. Laying down, Ron gently pulled Hermione on top of him and settled her head beneath his chin. "I love you," he whispered.

Hermione kissed his chin. "Oh, Ron. I love you too. I promise things will get better once this bill passes."

"Okay," he said. "But you're still the one who has to tell Rosie and Hugo in the morning that you're going back to work."

Hermione sighed into his neck. "That's fair."

* * *

Pansy looked up from her breakfast at the sound of crying. Beside her, Freesia murmured, "It's Mister Weasley and his kids."

Her daughter was, of course, right. Ron stood in the doorway, looking frazzled with a crying toddler on his hip and a fuming four-year-old at his side. 'What had upset them so?' she wondered. Pansy clucked her tongue and scanned the room. Ron's shrew of a wife was nowhere in sight. How annoying. One cranky child was grating enough, she could only imagine what two would be like.

"Can we invite them over for breakfast?" Freesia asked.

Pansy turned a nonplussed look on her daughter. "No. He has a wife to eat with."

Free scowled. "Then why's she not with him?"

"I don't know, maybe she's doing her hair," Pansy replied exasperated.

Her daughter scoffed. "No way," she said, "yesterday her hair was a poofy mess. If she cared about her hair _at all_ , she would have never walked around like that on the beach where all of those people are."

Pansy laughed. 'Clever girl,' she thought with no small amount of pride. "Alright," she relented. "Go ask. If he says no, though, I want no pouting out of you. I warned you about his wife."

Freesia beamed. Bounding toward Ron and his children, she asked if he would like to join her and Pansy. The pinched skin around Ron's eyes eased as he nodded vigorously. Pansy sat up a little straighter, looking around the dining hall once more. Where was Ron's wife? What was he trying to do to them? Get them and their baby _killed_?

Before she could become truly irate, though, Ron was in the seat beside her. He smiled at Pansy. "Thanks for inviting us. Hermione had to leave for work and the kids are a little upset…"

"A little?" Pansy murmured with a raised eyebrow.

He shrugged sheepishly. "You know, Freesia's pretty good with little kids," Ron said, tipping his head in the direction of the children. Ron's daughter and son were trailing after Freesia at the buffet, letting her put food on the plates they held as she spoke seriously about the options available to them.

"She's a people-person," Pansy replied.

Ron nodded. "That's a good trait."

Pansy tried not to smile too much at the compliment. Ron was a _Weasley_ , after all. He was far beneath her and her daughter and his compliments were as worth as much as a bouquet of hand-picked weeds. "So, your wife left you?"

The man's expression darkened. "Yeah," he said. "Was _urgent_ that she get back according to _Gianni_."

She couldn't help herself. His tone was simply too sad for her to not offer _some_ kind of condolence. "I'm sorry."

Ron scoffed. "No, you're not."

"I am!" Pansy insisted, affronted at his easy dismissal of her sympathy. If she hadn't meant it, she wouldn't have said it!

He eyed her for a long moment. "What are you and Freesia doing today?"

"There's a little art museum in town. I thought Freesia might like to see it."

Ron nodded, eyes once more on the children. Freesia had taken Ron's little boy's plate from him. It was filled the brim with sausage and fruit. She wondered how in Merlin's name her daughter expected the toddler to finish all of that. As for Ron's little girl, she had her plate held close to her chest. It held a tower of pancakes that she had no hope of finishing either. Pansy sighed. It was one thing to indulge, but to be so wasteful? She would have to have a little talk with Free later.

"Do you mind if we join you?"

Pansy turned her attention back to Ron. "What?" she asked.

"Do you mind if my kids and I come with you and Freesia to the museum? They could use a day out of the sun. Despite all the sunblock I've been slathering on them, they're still a little red on their shoulders and noses."

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "What are you playing at here, Weasel?"

Ron seemed surprised by her question. "Nothing!" he replied. "I just want to do something fun with my kids, to get their mind off Hermione being gone. A museum sounds as good distraction as any."

Pansy crossed her arms and legs. She couldn't believe this man. Was he truly so dumb? Or was he just mental? "Don't you think your children will _tell_ your wife about a day at the museum with _Pansy Parkinson_ and her daughter?"

He scowled. "I'm not going to tell them you're Pansy Parkinson. You're just the lady with the fun daughter who invited us along to the museum."

"What will your wife think about you spending a day out with a woman who isn't her?" Pansy hissed.

Ron looked away. "It doesn't matter, because if she complains, she'll be a hypocrite."

"A hypocrite about what?" Pansy asked, intrigued. She was becoming far more interested in uncovering the cracks in the shrew and Ron's marriage than resisting his company at this point.

He ran a hand through his hair, flashing a smile toward his children as they began to walk toward their table. "If she gets upset, then she'll be no better than me when I got angry about how much time she and Gianni spend alone."

Pansy hummed her understanding but said no more about it as Free sat down in the chair beside her. Looking at her daughter's plate of eggs and toast, she said, "Is that going to be enough? We'll be having a late lunch, darling."

The girl smiled. "Yes. If I'm still hungry, I'll just take a bite from Rosie or Hugo's plates!"

Ron's children smiled. "You can have some now if you want," Rose offered, eager to share with Freesia, who appeared to have become her new idol in their short time together.

"Thanks, Rosie," Freesia said, snagging a pancake off the little girl's plate with her fork.

This caused Rose's smile to widen as she giggled into her hands. Pansy felt her lips twitch into a grin. She was nearly as cute as Freesia was at her age.

"Children, your dad and I were talking and thought that maybe you would like to come with me and Freesia to an art museum today." Ron's mouth fell open, his shock at her easy offer evident. However, that surprise quickly faded and gratitude took its place. Pansy pretended not to notice as she looked between his son and daughter. "You _do_ know what an art museum is, don't you?"

Rose bobbed her head as Hugo said, "Yeah. Gots lots of pit'ures."

"That's right," Pansy praised.

Eagerly, Freesia added in, "They also have other stuff! Like statues and vases! I bet you'd both really like it. Mum says this one's a modern art museum and that stuff is always wicked!"

The pair needed no more convincing. "I wanna go!" Rose exclaimed. Looking to her father, she frowned severely and repeated, "I wanna go, Daddy."

"Then we'll go," Ron replied, amusement clear. Then, nudging her plate, he said, "But, first, breakfast."

Rose needed no further prompting. As she tucked in, her father turned his attention back to Pansy. "Thanks," he said.

She had to smother a smile behind a carefully placed hand. "There's no need for that, I didn't invite you along because _you_ asked. I'm doing this for Freesia. As you can see, she quite adores your brats."

For a moment, Ron appeared uncertain, then, he laughed half-amused, half-bewildered. As for Pansy, she looked away and suppressed the snicker bubbling up her throat. Who knew a _Weasley_ could have such a contagious laugh?


	5. The Reveal of Plan B

"What's this?"

Ron turned away from unpacking his suitcase to see what Hermione was talking about. He began to choke on air. In his wife's hand was Pansy's broken wristlet.

_"Oh damn!"_

_Ron tore his gaze away from the children. He knew he was likely to regret it, given the way the trio were whispering to one another. He was sure the girls were going to convince Hugo to touch the twisty, white statue before them that sort of reminded Ron of a Patronus. Oh well, getting kicked out wouldn't be the end of the world. He was getting rather bored of all the rather pretentious stuff they were seeing, anyway._

_Ron's eyes fell on Pansy's round arse. In that moment, he could not help but appreciate how her jeans hugged the curves of it. He wished Hermione would wear such form-fitting pants… A moment later, he had the decency to blush when Pansy cleared her throat. "Sorry," he said. Then, remembering her earlier exclamation, he asked, "What's wrong?"_

_She thrust her wallet-purse-thing beneath his nose. "My wristlet broke!" she complained._

_He shrugged off the bag with his kids' things. "Throw it in," he said._

_Pansy frowned. "I can carry it."_

_Ron rolled his eyes. "C'mon. You'll be whinging about it all day otherwise."_

_"I will not!" she cried, face flushing._

_He shook his head and began to put his bag back on. Pansy grabbed it before he could get it halfway up his arm. "Fine!" she huffed. "Just don't forget it's in there."_

_Ron smirked. "I won't."_

Clammy and cold from the memory, Ron lunged forward and snatched it from Hermione's grasp. "Nothing!" he said.

Hermione let it be taken but scoffed. "Ronald," she warned. "I'm not blind. Why do you have a woman's wristlet? Who's it belong to?"

He looked down at it. The faux green leather was a bit worn in places, showing gray material it was truly made of beneath. Sighing, he whispered, "Pansy Parkinsons."

His wife gasped. "Ronald!" Fingers wrapping around his chin she forced him to look at her and demanded, "How in Merlin's name did you end up with her wristlet?" Gaze scrutinizing and bleak, she asked, "Don't tell me you stole it?"

He wrenched his face away from her hold. "No!" he snapped. "What kind of man do you think I am?"

Wringing her hands, Hermione looked to the wristlet that still lay in his grip. "A good one," she said. "But Ron even good ones have… lapses."

The word echoed in Ron's mind, dredging up memories of Pansy's plump lips and the feel of her breasts in his hands. Shaky once more, he whispered, "I wouldn't. Not ever in that way."

Nodding, Hermione took a seat on their bed. In the quiet between them, she continued to stare at the wristlet. Her expression was intense and sharp. He knew she was attempting to think of a scenario where he could have gotten his hands on it. Sighing, Ron tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans before taking a seat beside Hermione.

Reaching for her hand, relief washed over him when she threaded their fingers together. Softly, he began, "You know I was pretty upset with you. We were on _holiday_. Work wasn't ever supposed to come up."

"You know–"

Ron raised his free hand. Hermione's mouth shut with an audible click and her lips pressed thin. In thanks, Ron squeezed her hand. "Well, lo and behold, Pansy was staying at the same hotel as us. The morning after you left, the kids and I went down for the continental breakfast. They were being fussy. Then this little girl came up to us and I didn't recognize her immediately, but her Mum sure recognized _us_."

"Pansy?" Hermione inquired.

He nodded. "Yeah. She tried to get her daughter to leave us alone," Ron lied. Then, smirking a smirk that was more true than fake, he remarked, "Merlin, was that kid stubborn." Shaking his head, he continued, "We ended up sitting together once Freesia got the kids on board with all of us eating together. After that, we ended up going to a museum and that's when Pansy's wristlet broke and I put it in my bag."

Hermione frowned. "Did you go to more than the museum together?"

"Love–"

"Ronald," Hermione hissed.

Ron hunched forward. "Yes," he answered.

Hermione got up and began to pace. "I should be angry with you," she said. "We both know what kind of person she is, but…" Turning back toward Ron, she got down on her knees and took his hands in hers. "If it made the kids happy, I'll try to let it go."

Astonished at her generosity, he replied, "It did make them happy. Pansy's a bitch still, but her daughter… She could be really bratty, but she loved playing with Hugo and Rosie. I don't think she got cross with them even once."

His wife smiled. "That's lovely. I'm glad to hear the holiday wasn't a complete wash."

Ron pressed a kiss to Hermione's temple. "Yeah, me too," replied Ron, astonished to realize he meant it.

* * *

Pansy cupped her daughter's face in both hands. She took in the short, square shape that was all Parkinson, the sharp cheekbones, the slight, pointed nose that were easily identifiable as Malfoy. Then the cupid-bow mouth that she loved to watch curve with a smile. That, without any doubt, was a gift from her beautiful grandmother, Narcissa. Tracing the crescent shape of her daughter's fine brown brows with her thumbs, Pansy gazed into her breath-taking crystalline blue eyes and thought to herself, ' _Don't forget this moment…'_

Cupid-bow lips pursed. "Mum," Freesia grumbled.

Pansy took her hands back. "You do well now, don't forget to write."

The girl looked toward the pillar she was to run through. "Why can't you come?" asked Free.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. Pansy had explained it at least a hundred times now, she was sure. It was best no one knew _Pansy_ was Freesia's mother. There were children at Hogwarts who remembered the war. They'd been small then, no more than five or so, but she knew for a fact that the darkness of that time left deep, festering scars on them.

There were children who'd known the kiss of a mother only to have it ripped away through violent means, there were youths who recalled deserting their homes in the middle of the night because their fathers were Muggleborns, and even worse, there were teens who'd been attacked themselves as little ones. Bone china white masks lurked in their nightmares and they bared physical marks ranging from twisting scars incapable of being buffed away to missing limbs and senses.

Pansy had been on the side losing side that committed those atrocities. If anyone were to realize… She shivered at the thought of the revenge that would be enacted upon her daughter in lieu of her. Pansy said nothing of this, however. Her daughter didn't need to know the truly terrifying implications of being marked as _her_ daughter.

"I've said before," she told her daughter, tone impatient and bordering on angry. She was getting quite sick of repeating herself and her daughter's stubborn insistence on not understanding her veiled words. "I was on the losing side of the war and am not well liked. If I come with you, the ruse will be up and everyone will know you're mine and treat you as such."

"But I don't _care_ if people know who you are."

Sighing, Pansy reached out and ran a gentle hand through her daughter's long tresses. "You think that now, but I know you will, should it be found out."

Freesia glowered. Pansy lowered her gaze and began to smooth the wrinkles from the cardigan her daughter wore. "Do you remember what your dad is supposed to look like?"

Taking a step back, Freesia snapped, "Yes!" Crossing her arms and creating new wrinkles in her cardigan, she bit out, "He's himself, but his hair's charmed brown like mine and he has a beard – like Mister Weasley does." She cocked her head. "Why can't _you_ charm yourself like him?"

She pretended to not hear her daughter's pointed question. Pansy had no interesting in meeting with Draco in her daughter's presence. There was little doubt in her mind they'd quarrel and ruin Freesia's first send-off (more than it already was, anyway).

"That's right," replied Pansy. "Your father looks more like you than ever before." Staring at her daughter, she did her best not to sound desperate (though she could not stop her voice from warbling), as she asked, "Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?"

Freesia's expression remained hard for a beat as if she was going to be mulish and ask _again_ why Pansy could not come. Much to her relief, though, it melted as she threw herself at Pansy. "I'll miss you, Mummy!"

Squeezing her daughter tight, Pansy rocked side to side with her daughter and kissed her before letting her go. "I'll miss you too, my beautiful girl."

Eyes glossy, Freesia said goodbye one final time before rushing the pillar that led to the platform where her father and the Hogwarts Express awaited her. Standing there for a long time after, Pansy wrung her hands and checked her watch. Eventually, from behind, a voice called, "She's fine, Pansy."

Spinning around, she narrowed her eyes at the sight of the brunet man before her. Draco didn't look much like himself at all, she had to admit. It settled her heart some. It was unlikely anyone even suspected, let alone realized that he was Draco Malfoy in disguise seeing off his eleven-year-old daughter. Crossing her arms, Pansy asked, "Did she wave to you from one of the windows?"

"Yes," replied the man, amused. "Even better, she was waving alongside another little girl. The two were smiling at each other and pointing at myself and what I assume to be her family as they did so."

Pansy let her her arms fall loose at her side, relief filling her. "It never ceases to amaze me, how quickly she makes friends."

Draco's lips lifted with a smirk. "It's the Malfoy charm at work."

"You wish," Pansy scoffed. "It's far more likely that the little girl sensed she was a natural leader and fell into place beside her. That leadership is a trait of Parkinsons, I'll remind you."

Laughing falsely, Draco said, "Whatever you say, Pansy."

Pansy knew she was supposed to insist it was a Parkinson trait, shove it down Draco's throat that Free was more her daughter than she would ever be his, but instead, she turned her gaze to her shoes and told Draco, "I need a favor."

There was a moment of silence followed by a softly murmured, "Oh?"

"Would you take Free for the holidays? I have… Plans… and Free doesn't fit in them."

Draco's brows furrowed. "What kind of plans? Are they with a man? Please tell me it's not with Weasley. He's _married,_ Pansy. And Potter's best friend to boot. if anyone caught wind–"

"–They are not plans with him!" Pansy cut in viciously. "My plans are not your concern, either! All I need to know is if you will take _your_ daughter into your home for Christmas or if I am to tell her she must spend her holidays without family at Hogwarts!"

The man put up his hands, though his expression was disgruntled. "Fine," he grumbled. "I'm sorry that I thought we could have a civil conversation for once. And yes, I can take _our_ daughter into my home for the holidays. Scorpius will be overjoyed."

Sneering at him, Pansy replied, " _Thank you_." Then, hitching her purse higher on her shoulder she said, "Now, I really must be going. My shift at the hospital starts in an hour."

Draco's expression was muddled with confusion and anger, but he nodded nonetheless and curtly replied, "Goodbye, Pansy."

"Goodbye!" she returned before turning heel and stalking away into the moving throngs.

She couldn't believe his nerve! Demanding that he know her plans for the holidays! She'd never asked his once over the years!

* * *

The unyielding back of the plastic chair he sat in was uncomfortable, the room was far warmer than he cared for, and the looping movie-menu music on the telly was slowly getting to him. He'd never been a fan of hospitals, but Muggle ones were their own special kind of torture. Irritation building, he began to bounce his leg to the tune of a nursery rhyme Hugo liked about soldiers going up and down a hill. A few moments later, Ron nearly jumped from his seat altogether when a hand grabbed his knee and _squeezed_.

"You're the most annoying man I've ever met," Pansy hissed.

Ron glared at her. "You're the one who invited me to _your_ appointment."

Her hand flew to her stomach. "Mine and the _baby's_. Which, I will remind you, is half yours."

Ron made a derisive noise in the back of his throat. "Hermione never asked me to come to these early appointments." As soon as the words left his lips, it dawned on him. This invite was a pretense for the _real_ reason Pansy wanted to see him. Annoyed with himself for being hoodwinked by this snake _again_ , Ron made to grab his coat when Pansy yanked on his ear. "Ouch!" he yelped.

Other expectant mothers and their spouses glanced their way. Some only looked mildly curious, as if they were entertained by them, while others appeared as if they were just one more exclamation away from complaining to the receptionist. It cowed Ron in a way so few things did. He did _not_ like negative public attention.

"Don't you dare leave me!" Pansy growled.

Settling back in the chair, he leaned in close and snarled back, "Then you tell me the _real_ reason for me being here."

Pansy fell away from him. Turning he saw that she was studying him closely, perhaps gauging his receptibility to another lie. In response, Ron hardened his expression and squared his shoulders. He would _not_ be falling for any more lies from her.

"How are you so sure why I asked to see you today is a lie?" she demanded.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione never made me come to either of these early appointments for Hugo or Rosie – like I already told you. On top of that, there's no way you're afraid to see the healer. You work with healers all the time."

She smiled. "Healers are the worst patients, you know."

He snorted. "Maybe," he relented. "I still know that's not why I'm here."

Pansy sighed. Rolling her neck, she finally said, "There _is_ something I want to talk about. But not here. After my appointment and somewhere a little more private."

"Private? Pansy, we can make wherever we _are_ private." Ron waved his pointing finger around, pantomiming a wand. "We're _you_ _know_."

She frowned. "Humor me. I'm carrying your baby," she said.

He crossed his arms and looked away. "Is that going to be your go-to for my cooperation?"

Pansy didn't bother to squash the smirk that came to her lips. "If it works!" she replied sounding terribly pleased with herself and amused.

Irritation sparked in Ron's chest, but unlike Pansy, he did not let the emotion get the better of him. Instead, he smothered it and turned himself away from Pansy. He'd play along with her a while longer, (because he needed to know now why Pansy insisted he come) but he was done trying to be nice.

It never got him anywhere with her.

* * *

Pansy plucked at the too-tight bracelet around her wrist. She knew she was stalling, and surely Ron did too, but he didn't say anything. Maybe he'd figured out why she invited him back to her place? Pansy hoped he hadn't, honestly. She didn't like the idea of him knowing she was lonely without Freesia.

Stirring his spoon around in his empty teacup, Ron drew Pansy's attention back to him. Looking just a little smug, he asked, "So, what's it you wanted to talk about?"

Her hand went to her stomach. It was too early to feel the baby kicking and moving, but she still knew exactly where it was. "I wanted to talk families," she said. "I still don't like the idea of it going to your brother."

Ron's expression turned stormy. "Percy is a great father," he said. Then expression lightening just a little, he explained, "We always used to think, 'Sweet Salazar, Percy's kids are going to be the dullest, weirdest kids imaginable,' but that's not true. He's protective of his daughter, Molly, and a stickler for her following rules, but he and his wife have raised her really well so far.

"She's only six, but she's got opinions on things; like orange is the best color in the world, and Merlin help anyone who disagrees, and she's really good at making others smile and laugh. Everyone agrees she's going to give George a run for his money when she gets a little older."

Nodding her head along, Pansy stayed quiet for a couple of minutes after his little speech. She needed him to feel she was really considering what he was saying, even though she wasn't. "He sounds like he's done a good job with his daughter," she replied. Then, carefully, she added, "I'm not saying he can't be an option, either, Ron, but I've thought of someone I might like our baby to go to as well."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked.

She glared at him, disgusted at his condescending tone. "Yes!" she snapped. "Just because I've not got anyone in the _magical_ world I would consider leaving our baby with does not mean I've no one I trust outside of Freesia!"

Ron blinked, then, averted his eyes, embarrassed. "Okay," he said. "So who's this family you're considering?"

"Do you remember Tracey Davis? She was in our year and a Slytherin like me."

He tilted his head back, eyes on the ceiling. "Kind of," he said. "She was short, right? Had a loud laugh, too."

Pansy dipped her head. "Yes."

"So, what about her?" he asked.

Pansy straightened a little in her seat, preparing herself for his coming objections. "It was her who connected me with her Uncle when I moved to the Muggle world. He has a wife, but no children. They are Free's godparents. We see them once a year around Easter, usually. They also send Free gifts for her birthday and Christmas. They're a little older, but I know they'd be overjoyed to have a child."

He began to drum his fingers across the table top. "I don't know…"

"Ron, Tracey's uncle was disowned because he married a Muggle. He's what _you_ would consider a good man," Pansy argued, hoping he would see sense.

He met her gaze. "I'm sure," he said, "but that's not what I'm worried about here. You said they were older. How are they going to keep up with a little kid? And how good is their health? I don't want our child to be losing parents before they're grown." He crinkled his nose. "Or feel strange because their parents are so much older than all of their friends."

Pansy puffed out an annoyed breath. "Ron, men, and women are having families later and later all of the time. The baby'll be _far_ from out of place if we adopt them out to the Davis's. As for them dying? Your brother or his wife could just as easily die before she's grown. Things happen."

Ron crossed his arms and tucked his chin close to his chest. Pansy thought, 'Here we go, he's going to say no.'

"I want to meet them, first," he declared. "It's one thing, the baby going to my brother. I know they'll be loved and happy there. But I know nothing about this couple you want to adopt our baby out to."

She felt her mouth fall open in shock. Then, quickly shutting it, she scrambled up from her seat to get a piece of paper and a pen. Coming back to the table, she scribbled down a few dates she could potentially take off from work and passed it to Ron. "Are you free these days? I could take you to see them on one of these dates."

Ron stared at the notepad a moment. Then, tapped his finger on one of them and said, "The second of October. I should be able to get my mum to watch the kids and I don't usually work Tuesdays at Fred's anyway."

"Okay," Pansy said, feeling some of the tension in her shoulders ease. "I'll give the Davis's a call." Then, hesitantly, she asked, "You're really going to consider them? This isn't just you trying to… _appease_ me, is it?"

He snorted. "Trust me, if I were trying to appease you, you'd know. I'm not a good liar like you."

Pansy rolled her eyes. " _Great_."

"So, um, since that's settled for now… How's Freesia? Is she liking Hogwarts?"

She eyed him for a moment. His expression seemed earnest enough. "Quite well, thank you. She has made a number of friends already." Smiling a little, she told him, "One of them being a niece of yours. Vicky?"

Ron grinned. "Yeah, Vicky is Bill's daughter." Leaning in he added, "I hear from Neville she's pretty chatty. He's had to ask her a few times in his class to be quiet while he was trying to lecture."

Pansy's heart constricted. She knew Weasley's weren't known for their intelligence, but this seemed a particularly daft move on Ron's part. "You _asked_ about her?" she demanded.

His brows furrowed in a manner that made him look quite clueless. "What?" he muttered, then, what she was saying appeared to dawn on him and his countenance took on a look of horror. "No! He just mentioned her. He talks about his students, I just kept out an ear for Freesia."

Pansy placed a hand on her chest. "You should have _said_ ," she grumbled.

"Why would you think I _asked_ in the first place? I'm not an idiot," he said.

She made a point of saying nothing. While he was not completely without a brain, Pansy did feel he was a bit of a dunderhead. After all, if he'd been smart, they wouldn't be in this situation at all, would they?

He made an angry noise and pushed away from the table. "Fine, whatever," Ron grumbled. "Look, I have to go. I told my mum I'd be back ten minutes ago to pick up the kids."

Pansy didn't stand up. He knew the way out. "Goodbye," she said, turning her attention to the half-full cup of tea in front of her. Ron rolled his eyes and said nothing before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking out. Picking up the cup of tea, Pansy grimaced at the feel of the lukewarm liquid in her mouth. Swallowing it down, she put her cup back down and sighed.

"Just a while longer, Pansy, and this disaster will be over," she told herself.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and please leave a comment/kudo to let me know what you think :)


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